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EL DORADO 



EL DORADO 

A TRAGEDY 



By 
RIDGELY TORRENCE 

M 



" Over the Mountains 
OJ the Moon, 
Down the Valley of the Shadow, 
Ride, boldly lide," 
The shade replied, 
" If you seek for Eldorado ! " 

PoE 



JOHN LANE • THE BODLEY HEAD 

NEW YORK AND LONDON 

M-CM-ni 



THt LifcRAKY OF 
CONGRESS. 

Two Copies Rocoivod 

SEP 16 1903 

„C»pynght Entry 

CLASS CL XXc. No 

COPY B. 



Copyright, 1903, by 
John Lane 






First Edition, August, 1903 



The Heintzemann Press 
Boston, Mass., U. S. A. 



TO 
MY PARENTS 



PROLOGUE 

Enter Shadow, clothed blackly, having a red dagger and 
bearing as a shield a great white mask. 

Shadow. Into this world where Life is born of Light 

I, Shadow, have been sent to bring you peace, 

To make you wise ; within my tragic themes, 

Lost Love, A Sullen Will, Dead Hope and Dread 

You shall find balm, pleasant with secret nard. 

To heal your discontent, for all men know 

That he for whom noon's brightest radiance glows 

Is he who waked and shuddered at midnight. 

O tear-accustomed children of this age 

Look on my stage and weep no more, for now 

I'll summon shapes struck with a grief so black 

That earth seemed fire, the sea a cloud of fear, 

Fate seemed an idiot scrawling on the sand. 

And heaven driven like a little leaf. 

The gold, five-keyed Elizabethan horn 

Shall be for us the soothing instrument. 

Then for the tale's sake I do kneel for help. 

To sky-browed ^schylus who down all the years 

Mourns deeply through a sterner, briefer shell. 

Making men hear the eagle wheel and shriek 

Round the sea rock on which all hope lay bound. 

Aid thou me then, O elemental Greek, 

Plunge in the rose at once her destined thorn ; 

Let not the wind have gradual rise and urge. 

But strike now to the tempest's coil and hiss, 

Show the swift lovers burning to and fro 

With Perth entombed, hearing no sound of earth 

But in the sky a thunder of falling tears. 



CHARACTERS 

Francis Vasquez de CokoNADO, Captain-General of the 
forces marching in search of the Seven Cities of Cibola. 

Hern AN d'Alarcon, Admiral of the naval detachment of 
searchers. 

Antonio de Mendoza, Viceroy of New Spain., i.e. Mexico. 

Luis de Ubeda, A Friar. 

A Gaoler. 

A Warder. 

A Major-Domo. 

A Convict. 

Sir Philip Perth, An Englishman. 

Beatrix d'Estrada, Daughter of the Treasurer of New 
Spain and in love with Corofiado. 

Soldiers, Sailors, Heralds, Townspeople, Cour- 
tiers, Women, Friars, Indian Camp-followers. 



Time: December, 1539, to October, 1541 
Scene : First Act in Mexico. Afterward clispersedly in the 
United States. 



ACT I 



^ 



EL DORADO 

Scene i . — A corridor beneath the Viceregal Palace in 
the City of Mexico. Two thirds of the toay up the 
stage to the left is a flight of stone steps leading 7ip to 
a door through zvhich issues a brighter light than that 
below. It is the morning of the day upon which the 
searchers for the Seven Cities leai'e the city. Pacing 
nervously back and forth is Coronado. He is evidently 
fresh from an elaborate toilet and is dressed in the ex- 
treme mode of the Court of Charles V. A suit of white 
velvet. Over his shoulder a cloak of flame-coloured 
silk embroidered with gold. A white hat with sweep- 
ing plume. A very long but dainty sword with large 
jeweled hilt. 

On a stone bench a Gaoler is stolidly seated. He 
is dressed in plain leather jacket and brown hose. 

Coronado. The dawn is late ! 

\^The sound of distant ordnafice is heard. 
Gaoler. There is the gun. 

Cor. How strange I 

This air is still grey as if charged with night. 
Gaol. Our nights are like our noons. 

13 



14 EL DORADO 

Cor. Perhaps, in prison. 

Gaol. I never knew outside. 

Cor. But are you sure 

This was the place she said ? 

Gaol. No man more so. 

Here's what she gave me for forget-me-nots. 

[ Showing purse. 

Cor. 'Tis a bleak limbo for a meeting world. 

\_A womaii's figure appears at the top of the 
stone steps. She stands for an instant. 
CoRONADO has his face turfied in that di- 
ectio7i but does not observe her. 

Gaol, She's here. 

CoR. \Starting.'\ Now go your ways. There's some- 
thing real. 

\Gives him money. Exit Gaoler, Coro- 
NADO turns to meet the figure tvhich comes 
swiftly down the steps toward him.'] 

Beatrix ! 

The Woman. It is you ! 

[She comes to him with the evident intention of 
embracing him, but his manner causes her 
to pause at arm's length. She is pale a?id 
her dress of grey is plainly trimmed in cloth 
of silver tvith a bit of white about the neck. 
It is Beatrix d' Estrada. 

Cor. O Wild and Dear, 

This is no place for trysts ! 

Beatrix. A sentinel 

Was stationed at the entrance of the garden. 

This was the only place. 



EL DORADO 15 

Cor. We should have waited 

And gone to beg once more your father's sanction. 
Beat. To beg 1 And how ? To pray ? To kiss his 

hands ? 
To show him seas of tears ? To smile ? To shriek ? 
Or to be quiet ? I have tried them all. 
Time and chance wear masks of stone to us. 
Cor. They seem of stone, yet blessings often come 
Wearing a mask. 

Beat. And is this thing a blessing ? 

Cor. Sweet, it may be. Patience is mine and hope. 
Beat. Patience 1 Patience 1 Are not all our days 
Shrouded beneath her flinty, irksome smile ? 
O, Patience is the tjTant of the world I 
And Hope I Why, Hope is dead 1 And as for blessings 1 
Is it a blessing to be starved, athirst, 
And have both bread and wine, yet be forbade 
To taste ? Is it a blessed thing to dwell 
Forever in a desert and behold 
The gardens of the world but in mirage ? 
Is it a blessing to lose hope, life, love ? 
Well then, I pray I may be cursed, cursed, cursed, 
Out of a heaven of blessings such as these 
To uttermost night I 

Cor. It is not you that speaks 1 

'Tis some usurper got behind your eyes. 
Seeking to take the throne where you still sit. 
I know 1 I see you there, — calm, brave, but sad. 
There is the queen no traitor ever harms I 
Dear Hands with the majesty of snow and lilies, 
Retake your might I Reign ! Is your will not royal ? 



i6 EL DORADO 

[A Tioise of hinges and locks and the tramp of feet 
is heard. Several men appear dimly in the 
far end of the corridor , passing from one un- 
seen door to a}wther. The zvoman clings to her 
lover with an instinctive foreboding of evil. 
Beat. \^Shuddering.'\ What men pass there ? 
Cor. The prisoners of state 

Who are released to join the expedition. 
Beat. Those seven deadly cities are to me 
The sins that make God bitterest against earth ! 
Cor. I only seek to satiate your father. 
Beat. Fray Nizza says he did not see much gold. 
Cor. Not he, but the good Moor Estevanico 
Went further and saw much and heard of more. 
And in the Zuni fortress they were told 
That northward, to the rising of the sun 
Quevara lay, which is Elysium, 
The vanished paradise, and there men find 
All things desirable. 
Beat. And gold as well? 

Cor. Yet it is there, mine are the eyes to see it. 
Here is the heart shall bring it home to you 
Made pure, for it must touch and kiss and crown 
This brow. 

Beat. I need no thing to touch and kiss 

My hair save lips and hands, and these I have ; 
They are my crown. 

Cor. But the Most Holy Church 

Needs all men who go forth for gold with swords. 
To fight and kneel in those far, desperate fields, 
Offering the savage blood up unto heaven. 



EL DORADO 17 

Beat. Here is a savage. Here, within my breast, 
That yields to but one man. The Church has many, — 
Keep me this one. 

\_The sound of a chime beating six is heard. 
They start and listen. 

Cor. This hour the Council meets. 

They give me my command. 

Beat. It is the end. 

Cor. Do not we two know well there is no ending ? 

Do you not dream upon this afternoon ? 

Go early to the Viceroy's balcony, 

I will await below, and afterward. 

When the last loudness fades upon the air 

And the long march is dim against the sky, 

I will return for one last hour of all. 

Ah, do we two not well know where ? The Tree 1 

The old, moon-smitten place of love and leaves. 

Beat. There shall be no farewell ; I go with you. 

Cor. O madness! 

Beat. I will follow. 

Cor. Then would Death 

Leap forth for both of us from my own sword. 

For you could never come still white to me 

Amid the foul camp-followers. 

Beat. We would die ? 

Cor, By my swift hand. 

Beat. [^Desperately teari?tg open her garment at the 

breast for him to strike^ Now 1 
Cor. Brave and Mad and Dear, 

Only on such an hour as when you come. 



1 8 EL DORADO 

Yet you will not — what wildness do we mutter, — 

\_The chime beats the quarter.^ 
The bell 1 [Zr<? starts to goJ] 
Beat. Another death — 

Cor. [Embracing her swiftly.'] No 1 life — and hope 1 

[Exit. 

[Beatrix stands gazing sto?iily at vacancy until 
he is quite gone. 
Beat. Lady of Pity 1 Help — 

[The Gaoler comes from behind a pillar a?id ap- 
proaches softly and cringi?igly. 
Gaol. Yestreen 'twas dim ; 

[She turns.] 
So it may not have glistened to your eyes. 
I have it yet. 

Beat. Have what ? 

Gaol. The suit of armour. 

Beat. The suit of armour ? 

Gaol. [Remitiiscently.] Yes, the prison killed him. 
He gave it to me, dying, it is mine ; 
Called me his mother I I was far from that, 
But I was very soft. Poor murdered boy I 
I would have kept it, but the drink grows dear, 
Dearer than memories of any man. 
It is all whole, the head-piece only dinted. 
Beat. The head-piece ? 

Gaol. But he always kept it down. 

I never saw his face till that last day. 
Beat. Down ? 

Gaol. And his face was like the upper air. 

Beat. Bring it. I will look once more. 



EL DORADO 19 

[7%<? Gaoler at once produces a suit of mail 
from behind the pillar. He gives it to her. 
She holds it against her body as if measur- 
ing it. 
Gaol. Bright! Bright 1 

Beat. What might I do with such a manly thing ? 
Gaol. [ With low cunning^ Do ? What you please. 

It might have many uses. 
Even more use than the poor gold I ask. 
Beat. {Suddenly^ Here is the gold. {Gives him purse^ 

Muffle the suit in cloths 
And in an hour carry it to the stairs. 
I will be there, and with another purse 
For secrecy. 

Gaol. Trust me. Foam numbs the tongue. 

\_Exit. 
Beat. \As she goes slowly up the steps.'] And — death 

— to follow — him — 
And life — where else? 



Scene 2. — Hall of State in the Palace. The room is a 
large one with some claim to stateliness. It is, in the 
main, Gothic, but alloyed with suggestions of the archi- 
tecture of the edifice and ruifis Ofi the site before the 
restoration, fourteen years previous to this scene. The 
lines are more flattetied and the scanty carving is seen, 
on closer ifispection, to be alien to old-world art, unless 
it be Egyptian. At one end is a dais upon which is a 
thro?ie canopied with red velvet and embossed with the 
royal arms. Upon the throne is seated the Viceroy. 



20 EL DORADO 

He is dad in black and on his breast is the Order of 
the Golden Fleece. 

Upon the level of the dais, though in a movable 
chair, is seated a man, old, grizzled, and clad in plain 
soldierly dress and half mail. 

At the door and lining the walls are motionless 
Soldiers o?i guard. Several Pages loiter about the 
room, and at the end opposite the throne is a table at 
which are seated several Friars acting as secretaries. 

The man seated with the Viceroy is Hernan 
d'Alarcon, Admiral of the impending expedition. 

Alarcon. We still need men. 

Mendoza. You have too many now. 

Alar, Yes, of one kind, but of another, no. 
Men. How? 

Alar. Of a kind of dainty officer 

Fashioned of all the younger sons of Spain 
That overrun this land, — pale silken things, 
Or yellow, treacherous, lewd swaggerers. 
We have a plenitude. But of men ? No ! 
Of men who no more laugh at perilous things 
Than they do shrink from them ; grim, faithful men. 
Who fight as though they work, and work like war- 
riors, — 
Of these there is a lack. 
Men. There are none left. 

Even the dungeons are left tenantless. 

\There is a stir at the door of the Hall. Enter 
a Major-Domo followed by the Warder 
of the Castle bearing his keys and a book. 



EL DORADO 21 

Major-Domo. The Warder craves your leave to tell 

a thing. 
Men. Let it be told. 

Warder. I dared not keep it back : 

There is a man left, or there was, or seemed — 
Men. Be brief. 

Ward. All of those lower cells are pits 

Whose prisoners are only reached by chains 
Let down into the dark. We dragged them forth 
One after one ; I and the gaolers laughed, 
They seemed so like some heavy blinking fish. 
All took their freedom like a sentence, — dazed. 
Men. What of the man ? 

Ward. Yes, when we reached the mouth 

Of the last pit and called down the good news, 
No sound came ; then said I, " Do you still live ? " 
And listened, but the silence grew again 
And we would fain have gone, when from the depths 
We heard a whisper say four words, as though 
Some dead man spoke a lesson to his grave. 
Alar. What were the words ? 

Ward. How I remember them ! 

" There is no life."—" Well then," said I, " Sir Ghost, 
Yield up thy spirit, grasp the chain and mount." 
Then came the voice again, " I have done with chains." 
And all was still ; he would not be released. 
Men. And is he yet there ? 

Ward. No, we urged in vain, 

Then let a ladder down and several men 
Brought him, indifferent, to the air and light. 
Men. And now ? 



22 EL DORADO 

Ward, He is within my private lodge. 

Men. Summon him here. 

Ward. The book will tell his time. 

\^He gives them the prisojier's record. Exit 
Gaoler. 

Alar. The book. [Mendoza opens it. Alarcon looks 
on. 

Men. Cell ten. 

Alar. A lost page. 

Men. Here it is. 

\Reading^ '■'■The reign of Ferdijiand mid Isabel — 
Within the thirty-ffth year of the reign — 
Ii7iprisoned — by an order — for a crime — 
A man — within the dimgeons of Seville.^'' 

Alar. There is a note below. 'Tis newer ink. 

Men. \Reading?\ 

" Brought out to Mexico as galley slave — 
By me — Hernando Corth of Medellin.''^ 

Alar. The thirty-fifth ! 'Tis thirty years since then ! 

Men. The years drift by like rain. 
Enter Warder. 

Ward. The man is here 

And waits outside. 

Men. Bring him within at once. 

[Exit Warder, who immediately re-enters lead- 
ing a Man. The Warder steps back and 
the Man is left standing at the dais steps. 
He has the strong, well-knit fratne of a man 
i?i the prijne of tniddle life, but his shoulders 
and head are inclined as with the weight 
of many years. His hair is white and his 



EL DORADO 



23 



face^ though full-lipped, is grey and lined 
with the furrows of old age. His eyes are 
lustreless and set straight before him. His 
whole demeanour betokens the most utter, 
listless hopelessness. He is clad in plain 
doublet and hose of stone-colour ejnbellished 
with a gaudy cloak evidently lent to him by 
the Warder.] 

Who are you ? 

The Man. Why, — not '' who:' 

Men. What does he say ? 

Ward. His head is still distraught. 

Men. What do you wish ? 

The Man. Wishes went last of all, but they went too. 

Men. Went where ? 

The Man. With hours — and days — and 

then — the night. 

Men. How long a time have you been kept im- 
prisoned ? 

The Man. Time is a name. Yes, yes, I still hear 
names. 

Men. What names ? 

The Man. Dead hopes. Yes, Hope too is a name. 

Men. I can make nothing of the answers given. 

Alarcon, if you wish, question the man. 

Alar. This is the Tribunal of Mexico. 

You have your freedom. You have been released. 

We have a kindly spirit for your grievance. 

Tell us your tale that we may help your case ; 

This is the House of Justice. 

The Man. What is Justice ? 



24 EL DORADO 

Men. Impartial judgment ; equal as day and night. 
The Man. And night — and night — and night. The 

tale is told. 
Men. His reason is dead. 

Alar. Not dead, but stricken hard 

And mutters as a thing that looks on Death. 
I have seen men once or twice before like this 
When we released old prisoners of the Moors. 
Men. We can do nothing then in this event 
Till his recovery, which is uncertain. 
Dismissed. Lead him away. 

[^The Warder comes forward and conducts the 
Man toward the door. All withm the Hall 
have been watching the Man, and f7-om the 
secretaries'' table a Priest has ariseji and 
walked slowly forward. As the Man turns 
toward the door this Priest sta?ids co?i- 
fronting him. 

The Friar, O speak my name ! 

The Man. \As to himself^ A memory — also dead. 

The Friar. Philip ! 

The Man. God help me I 

The Friar. Hold I Cling ! Keep your eyes 

Alight I 

The Man. Ubeda ! 

The Friar. You are still alive 

That you may live ; here is the same warm, sweet. 

Gold sun, green world, blue space, and blossom red. 

Enter this fire-spun web of summer noon 

And be enmeshed with all the willing earth 1 



EL DORADO 25 

The wonder and wine of day, the moving things. 

Live for the beauty of the things remote ; 

The stars, and the wise hours that make for us 

The heaven-presaging briefness of a flower. 

The Man. To live — to live — to live — 

The Friar, You have awakened. 

Here's warmth, come near to me, grip close my hand. 

Does it speak nothing of all the love that moves it ? 

Men. Brother Ubeda, you have known this man? 

Ubeda. I have. 

Men. What of his life ? 

Ubeda. 'Tis quickly told 

Though long in making. In the year of grace 

Nine past the flight of fifteen centuries. 

An acolyte in Salamanca's cloisters 

Possessed a friend like David's Jonathan, 

An English knight sent thither as a student. 

Whose nobleness even outshone his rank. 

All sunny things smiled on him and were his 

And would have lighted all his earthly life 

But for a glance. ... A noble of the town, 

Decayed in fortune and merit, had one daughter 

Whom he intended as a bait for gold. 

The youth was but a powerless younger son. 

There was a meeting and a secret marriage. 

Then came the end. — The same sad moon that rose 

Upon her bridal waned on her alone. 

The father of the maid had certain might, 

And so the bridegroom vanished like a shade. 

Nothing was said. There were no questions — spoken. 

This is the man. I was the acolyte. 



26 EL DORADO 

\^The sound of dock chimes is heard outside. 

Then the sound of trumpets. Enter 

Heralds trumpeting. 
A Herald. At this hour the Viceroy will inspect 
The arsenal and weapons for the march. 

\The Viceroy rises followed by all in the hall. 

They prepare to file out. 
Men. Sir, I have pity for your wrongs. 
Alar. And I — 

Men. We will do all we can to recompense you. 

\Exeunt all except Perth, Ubeda and Warder. 
Ubeda. \To Warder.] We wish to be left here. 
Ward. When you have done 

Let him come down and lodge within my quarter, — 
Poor gentleman — and welcome. 
Ubeda. You are thanked. 

\Exit Warder.] 
Out of the lagging night of all these years 
I've begged God for this hour ; to grasp this hand 
And look into this face and hear this voice 
And sound the name of friend for balm to you. 
Perth. Yes, I believe you have been true to me. 
I give you thanks. Friends were the noblest things 
In the world once, no doubt they still are so ; 
I loved you then, no doubt I love you still. 
And now, if you have done, I will return. 
Ubeda. Will return ! Where ? 
Perth. Again into the dark. 

This blatant yellow light dins in my brain. 
I seem to have to bear the sky's whole arch, 
Like Atlas, on my shoulders. — Yes, the dark, 



EL DORADO 27 

The dark is better ; there I cannot see 

The load I bear. — I only feel them all. 

Ubeda. Feel them 1 Feel what ? 

Perth. Clouds, clouds. 

Ubeda. O friend of mine — 1 

Enter Alarcon. 
Alarcon. Sir, I have returned to offer you 
A rank among my men as fits your blood. 
Ubeda. He has not heard. 

Alar. O then we'll lighten him. 

I am the Admiral of the Argonauts — 
Perth. The Argonauts ! Jason is dead and dust, 
The Golden Fleece was but a thin marsh light, 
The grave-torch of Desire. 
Alar. Our Fleece is new. 

We sail toward the star that draws the pole — 
Perth. Toward the star I You go by way of the sky ? 
Alar. Why yes, beneath it. 
Perth. O beneath, beneath, 

That is to stay within the selfsame place. 
Alar. No, for we'll sail for many and many a league, 
But in the end the thing we seek will find us. 
For like all things 'twill have an ending. 
Perth. Ashes. 

Alar. Under the wise lode-planet we will find 
All the desires of men since Genesis. 
Lost Eden has revealed itself again ; 
A priest named Nizza has discovered it. 
Ubeda, He has indeed seen many hidden things. 
All good things have been rarer since man's fall. 
And who shall say we will not find them there ? 



28 EL DORADO 

Alar. Great wealth ! 

Ubeda. Honour ! 

Alar. And Fame ! 

Ubeda. And even Love I 

Alar. And Youth 1 

Perth. Youth ! 

Ubeda. No, there may be many things 

But never that. Time Past cannot be born 

Of Now or Time-to-come. 

Alar. Yes, even Youth ; 

For I was with Don Ponce de Leon 

In Florida unto dark Bimini, 

Ubeda. 'Twas not there ? 

Alar. No, but as we fought our way 

Back to the world, a native told to me 

The secret ; it is in this same dim north 

And in the place Fray Nizza calls Quevera. 

Ubeda. Let us not fledge our hopes on pinnacles, 

For they will soar full high even from the gulphs. 

Alar. Think of the Seven Cities of Cibola, 

With all its roofs of gold. 

Perth. O God, roofs ! roofs 1 

Always the Screen. — 

Alar. But will you sail with us ? 

You shall be listed as an officer. 

Perth. The stars are sown too thick. — 

Alar. Sir ? 

Perth. Will I sail? 

I thank you Sir. And you most true and kind. 

Alar. But will you sail ? 

Perth. Who knows ? 



EL DORADO 29 

Ubeda. He must have time 

To gather thoughts and mould his mind again. 

Alar. He must decide, we march within the hour. 

Ubeda. Then start without us, I will bide with him 

And overtake the retinue to-morrow. 

Alar. And bring him with you ? 

Ubeda. It may be. 

Alar. Farewell then. 

Ubeda. Farewell. 

\_Exit Alarcon. 

Perth. Farewell ! There is a word I know 1 

Ubeda. Come with me to the outside air and light 

And we will talk of hope and of this sailing. 

Perth. Dead leaves — they do not sail — they drift 
— are blown. 

Who blows them ? Why, a wind. — What wind ? — 
Darkness. 

Upon what sea? Of dreaming — ! Dreaming what? — 

Who dreams ? — More darkness — 

Ubeda. Outside it is noon 1 

And I will make you see it ! 

[Perth moves toward the door with the same 
indij^erent air which he has borne through- 
out the scene. As he moves ^ a ray of bright 
light falls upon his face from a high, barred 
window. He starts violently a?id shades 
his eyes, then slowly allows it to shine full 
in his face. 

Perth. \_As though trying to recall a memory. "] 

Sunlight 1 

Ubeda. Come I 



30 EL DORADO 



Scene 3. — Affe?-noon of the same day. In front of the 
Palace. The exterior of the bziildings presents a curi- 
ous mixture of Moorish, Gothic, and Mexican architec- 
ture. In many places the carved stones of old temples 
are built ijitact into the walls. Shattered and over- 
thrown images and 7Jionstrous broken statues lie about 
as they fell eighteen years before. 

On the right is Coronado at the head of the main 
body of the expeditio7i. He keeps his eyes intently oji 
the company with the Viceroy, who is standing above 
in a balcofiy surrounded by his court. To the left of 
the square is Alarcon at the head of the naval de- 
tachme?it. In the background appears the populace. 
The Soldiers and Sailors are brave in their flashing 
parade accoutrements. Over them wave banners and 
pennants bearing the royal arms. All faces are bright 
with hope and expectation. 

A Captain. Ground arms ! 

A Voice. Bravo, Don Coronado ! 

A Herald. Silence 1 

Another Voice. And brave Alarcon ! 

The Herald. Hush, the Viceroy speaks ! 

Mendoza. Captains and soldiers of the western world, 

God and the King of Spain have given you 

All things that mortal men have held most dear 

Since grief began, for they are yours already. 

They merely wait until you go and seize them. 

You will see trials, no doubt, but you are strong 



EL DORADO 31 

And the reward awaits. Each soldier shall possess 

What seems most dear to him. To some 'tis gold ! 

To others, Beauty I Knowledge 1 Visions ! Youth 1 

Let each man take his fill and afterward 

Return to us • — but not with empty hands. 

Don Francis Coronado will proceed 

To Compostella, there reorganize 

With more recruits and then march to the north 

And victory. You, Don Alarcon, sail 

As Admiral along the western shore 

North from Natividad, explore the coast 

And somewhere in the northland strive to meet 

Don Coronado and there reinforce him. 

A Herald. Both land and naval columns march at 

once. 
A Voice. A brave speech I 
A Captain. Shoulder arms ! 

A Woman. Alarcon ! 

A Captain. March 1 

\_Exeunt the two columns by distinctly separate 
ways ; CoRONADo's to the left, Alarcon's 
to the right. Coronado keeps his eyes al- 
ways on the balcony and marches away. 

A Woman. See, Coronado turns his brave eyes back- 
ward. 
2D Woman. 'Tis eyes in search of eyes. 
1ST Woman. Not yours, I warrant. 

An Aged Man. If I were not so old — 
A Child. Let's follow them. 

[Exeunt all. 



32 EL DORADO 



Scene 4. — The same. — Enter Perth and Ubeda 

slowly. 

Ubeda. Here's a flower. [Fluckifig one."] 

Perth. Yes, — flowers. 

Ubeda. Do you remember them ? 

Perth. A few ; three roses and one violet. 

Ubeda, Does the sun now seem warm to you ? 

Perth. Yes, — outside 

Upon my garments and even on my flesh. 

Ubeda. Lean now against this tree. How strong it is ! 

Perth. Strange proof, thus to find evil even in trees. 

[T/ie sound of tmrnpets. 

Ubeda. The march passes the walls ; if we go now 

We may rejoin them there. 

Perth. It would be useless. 

Ubeda. In what way ? 

Perth. If to go would be an ill, 

I need not hasten ; it will come to me. 

And if a good, they will have gone too far ; 

I could not overtake them. 

\Enter Coronado breathless and 7vearing the 
disordered mie?i of one in great mental dis- 
tress. 
Cor. \To himself ?\ She was not there ! 
Perth. Not there ! Why no, how could she ? She 

is dead. 
Cor. God — 



EL DORADO 33 

Ubeda. Peace, how could he mean the one you seek 1 

Perth. Not her I Who then ? 

Cor. I charge you by your cross — 

Ubeda. My son, you are Don Francis Coronado ? 

Cor. But she — 

Ubeda. Whom do you seek ? 

Cor. a lady of court. 

Ubeda. None has been here. 

Cor. I see ! She was not there I 

She never would have failed ! She is kept prisoner 1 

O Friar, may all your saints damn such a father I 

For it was he. I'll stay — 

\_The trumpets are again heard 7nore faintly . 

Ubeda. There are your trumpets. 

Cor. She — What grim shade are you, sent here to 
judge me ? 

Her desperate need cries with a voice that drowns — 

Ubeda. Your honour? 

Cor. Can it be ? 

\The trumpets are again heard. 

Ubeda. Your trumpets call you. 

Cor. It is no call, but rather do their sounds 

Lash me like brazen whips away from her. 

They shriek two names to me. Honour and Hell. 

They drive me with two words. Duty and Death. 

Those are the things that I can only find 

Outside her arms ! 

\He remains dumb and motionless for a moment, 
the?t stretches his arms with abandonment 
of great yearning toward the Palace^ 



34 EL DORADO 

O Silent ! Wounded ! Best ! 

If you have ever heard the unspoken things, 

Hear now ; keep to the end our unkept tryst. 

Melt some one link from all the chaining flesh 

And breathe one whisper to the waiting wind, 

To bear to me upon the road to — 

[Zr<? turns mechanically toward the direction 
taken by the .troops. The trumpets blow 
again far i?i the dista,nce. : He makes to go, 
but fuoves with the mien of one who is blind. 
His lips frame one word.'\ 

Where 1 [^Exit. 

Ubeda. That man is Captain-General of the force 

Proceeding north by land ; a brave, true soldier, 

But he is young. 

Perth. I would have known his youth, 

Though he had worn a wrinkled, palsied body 

And every sign of age, for he rebels 

Against the slumber settled on his eyes. 

He struggles yet. Whose name was it he called ? 

Ubeda. I do not know. He leaves some heart behind. 

Perth. Hearts always are left so. 'Tis in the Dream. 
[Enter Beatrix in complete armour with closed 
visor. 

Beatrix. Have all departed ? 

Ubeda. Sir, you are tardy, yes. 

Hasten, for even now they pass the lake. 

Beat. I — have not been enlisted yet. 

Ubeda. Then come 

With our adventurers who go north by sea. 

We need enforcement more than those by land. 



EL DORADO 35 

Beat. By sea ! 

Ubeda. Yes, with the Admiral Alarcon 

Who is to join the Captain-General. 

Beat. Where ? 

Ubeda. Somewhere in the dim north. 

Beat. \Suddenly after a paitseP^ I will go. 

Ubeda. Well said. And now I pray you raise your 

visor. 
Beat. I cannot. 
Ubeda. Why ? 

Beat. I am a fugitive. 

Perth. Why, so are all mankind ! 
Ubeda. You need not fear. 

We'll not betray you, for this northward quest 
Is righteous and a penance for your sins. 
Beat. If you should know me you would ruin all. 
Ubeda. We could not know your face, for I arrived 
But yesterday from Spain to join Alarcon, 
And this poor gentleman to-day was freed 
From thirty years in dungeons. 

\_She raises the visor?^ 

You are young ! 
Perth. IStartingr^ A boy ! O cruelty 1 He is too 

tender 
To face his dream. — Ubeda, I was older. 
Lad, take my hand, — I will be stronger soon. 
■And then I'll help you bear — this weight of sky. 

Curtain 



ACT II 



Scene i. — Six months later. The deck of the Sa?ita 
Caterina, ALAV^coti^s flagship. The ship is anchored in 
the Colorado River, fust inside the sand-bars that stretch 
across the mouth of the river where it empties into the 
Gulf of Calif ortiia. Nearby are discovered, also riding 
at anchor, the two other ships that compose the fleet. 
Beyond them are seen the sand-dunes of the eastern bank. 
On the deck is a cotntnon Sailor, sleeping. Enter 
another Sailor and shakes him. 

Sailor. Waken, you loose piece of coiled rope ! You 
sleep like the old dried dolphin nailed on the lid of the 
tar-vat I You were only on in two watches last night, 
and here the morning is almost past. 

2D Sailor. \Rousing7^ What news ? 

1ST Sailor. Now there you do yourself proud, to ask 
such a question, for 'tis hard to answer. 

2D Sailor. Why no question is hard to answer, unless, 
indeed, one should tell the truth. 

1ST Sailor. Well, I could not but be half a liar to this 
kind of question, for the following reason, to wit : you 
ask me shortly, " What news ? " Now if I should 
answer you in kind, to wit : shortly or briefly as, 
"well" or "ill" I would be giving you but one fin 
or the tail of this slippery fish called truth. 
39 



40 EL DORADO 

2D Sailor. How would that be ? 

1ST Sailor. Because, saying "what news " you mean 
the weather. 

2D Sailor. Yes. 

1ST Sailor. Now if you mean the weather that God 
makes out of water and sun and things that blow, I 
could say truthfully, " all's well," for the fog lifts and 
the heat 's as warm as a drink of bottled things. But 
if you mean the weather that's in men's hearts on 
yonder ship, then the truth flops clear of the wet to 
shout " ill," for the fog is on their souls as close as a 
house on land. 

2D Sailor. Well, the Admiral went to speak to them 
at dawn and he'll hearten them. 

\_Noises from the water below the deck!s edge, 
the sou7id of oars and voices, 

A Voice. Ho, watch 1 

1ST Sailor. Here they come back, \Riinning to the 

sideT^ All's well, cast up 1 
The Voice. Heave. 

Enter over the ship's side Alarcon and his suite. 

Alarcon. Let the six chiefest officers retire 
With me into my cabin. In an hour 
We will announce to all our firm decision 
Whether to go or stay. 

\_Exeufit Alarcon and Officers, the rest dis- 
perse into groups about the deck. In the fore- 
grou?id several ^O'LDi'E.v.s and Sailors meet. 

A Sailor, He's a pale-hearted fool that says go back. 



EL DORADO 



41 



\_The Sailor is dressed in dirty leather. He is 
lithe, muscular, with a brutal, drink-swolleti 
face. 

A Soldier. I would rather show the whiteness of my 
liver than of my bones, as they would bleach on 
yonder sands. 

The Sailor. Now you have said enough for the yard- 
arm. That's mutiny ! 

2D Soldier. Mutiny ! Now there's a good word. 
What may that word mean ? 

The Sailor. 'Tis a pudding made of bilge-water and 
wormy meal and tastes sweet or bitter according to 
how long 'tis cooked. 

3D Soldier. Why is it that you don't want to go back 
to Mexico ? 

The Sailor. We must all bear injustice. Some say I 
did a thing and some say not, but the man died, and — 

4TH Soldier. A rope has a claw with a reach. 

The Sailor. Well, now you are wise. 

[Exeunt all save the Sailor. Enter Beatrix 
from behind a mast where she has evidently 
been listening. She is no longer in mail, but 
is clothed in the garb of a page. 

Beatrix. Will they return ? 

Sailor. \_Turning with his hand on his knife ^ How's 

this? The Admiral's page spying? 
Beat. Not by his authority. 'Tis but a personal fear 

against returning. 
Sailor. Against I Ho, ho I So you too have done a 

thing to dangle for. Save us from hell 1 Here's a 



42 EL DORADO 

youngster ! How can such a pretty fellow lead so ill a 
life ? You're the whitest thing I ever saw that had 
rolled in the pitch of sin. Well, you'll hang all the 
earlier. 

Beat. I fear no death, but I'll not return with Alarcon. 

Sailor. Good I If he decides to go back I leave 
him. How with you ? 

Beat. Do you think we could meet — the land expe- 
dition ? 

Sailor. Most likely, but even the doubt is better than 
to make the midnight wind a rattle I Will you go ? 

Beat. Try the men and see how many will go with us. 

Sailor. Shall I tell them you'll go ? 

Beat. I will not return with Alarcon. 

[^Exif Sailor.] 
Enter Perth and Ubeda talking earnestly. 

[To Perth.] Good morning Sir. 

Perth. \Looking intently at her."] May all the day be 

fair 
With you as it is now. Is it as fair 
This morning to be young? 
Beat. [_Going.'\ I have not thought. 
Ah, I am called. \Exit. 

Ubeda. What do you gaze on now ? 

Perth. If they had only left me some one thing, 
Ubeda, out of all the utter wreck ! 
Some little thing, to own, to feel, to cherish, — 
Some little stricken blossom out of all 
That ruined garden, O I would have reared it 
So tenderly, so gently pity-full ! 



EL DORADO 43 

Ubeda. You could not have done so while you were 

prisoned. 
Perth. No, I forgot, the wretched gardener perished 
With his one bloom. — 

Ubeda, What stirred the mist again 

Within your heart ? You have been faintly cheerful. 
Perth. A blessed dew called Youth fell in the old 

days ! 
It was a lulling balm that healed all grievings. 
'Tis gone ! I lost it ! And yet, I remember 
How soft ! How solacing I All suffering 
Was soothed and made more bearable for men 
By this far, perilous spell of Youth — Youth ! 
Ubeda. What stirred the mist ? 

Perth. The presence of the page. 

I never watch his fairness without thinking 
How I might now be finding my old hours 
Renewed in some such form. If those dead days 
Had not been pitiless to all the living, 
They might have left a son to me. — 
Ubeda. They did I 

O brave, sweet soldier, fasten now your mind 
Within your eyes ! It roves too much to the sky. 
And even your eyes have fed too much on air ! 
Perth. You said — I heard — you told me — 
Ubeda. Yes, of truth. 

You have a son. He is no doubt alive. 
Perth. In what world ? 
Ubeda. This 1 

Perth. In this world all are dead. 

Ubeda. Not all in this world. 



44 EL DORADO 

Perth. There was but one to die. 

Ubeda. Know then, she faded and passed within that 

year, 
But there was one of whom you never knew. 
Who lived and who was cared for by the Church 
Until three years of age and then delivered 
To a kind-hearted noble for adoption. 
Who, dying childless, gave the boy his name. — 

[Perth has started with the gesture of one who 
awakes, aitd in his eyes is a light new to 
them.~\ 
You doubt. — 

Perth. No, for I seem to have known it all 
Through all these years ! Some lost voice told me of it 1 
O Little Voice, you wailed in vain for her ! 
And Tender Hands, you stretched, but to touch air! 
She was not there 1 Nor I who might have helped 1 
O does he know of me ? 
Ubeda. He never knew. 

Perth. And now he shall. Poor, desolate, little 

Head! 
The time grows short, — we will not have to wait 
Much longer, — I will come, though late — to help. 
Then you shall lean on me, I'll give you strength, 
And we will talk of her who will not be there. 
But you will be there, you — with Youth for me ! 
Ubeda. The years veer like the winds and as they 

shift, 
So all things mortal. He is now a man, 
A name he has, but with impoverished lands, 
His fortunes are not fixed. He must not know. 



EL DORADO 45 

He struggled long and now builds toward greatness. 
Seek not to crush the work of all these years. 
He would proclaim his birth unto all men, 
And men would echo him again with ruin 1 
For who would ask if prison were unjust ? 

[Perth's head bows again as though ivith the 
heaviest weight of all, but the fire just lighted 
in his eyes does not die. 

Perth, But I may know a name ? 

Ubeda. I dare not tell you. 

It is the Church's secret ! It is best. 

Perth. How should I know him out of all the world ? 

Ubeda. I must not speak his name. 

Perth. But if you perish 

And it would die with you ? 

Ubeda, Then by this sign : 

Upon his hand the crucifix is branded I 

He did it foolishly in youth as penance 

For some imagined fault. The scar is seared. 

The cross shows white and plainly on the flesh I 

Perth. Which hand ? 

Ubeda. The right. 

Perth. I thank you for this much. 

'Tis something. I will search the world for hands 1 

And when I find him I will know him then, 

That will be all — he will not know. But I — 

I may — who knows but that I shall — in secret 

Be helpful to him, warm him with my love. 

Love which he cannot give again to me. 

How could he ? It is best — he will not know. 



46 EL DORADO 

O eyes, when you first look upon his face, 
Wear masks, lest something in you speak to him. 

lips, put fetters on the thing within — 
Fetters, fetters 1 I thought long ago. 

There in the dark, that I had done with chains 1 

1 did not know. 

Eiiter a Herald followed by Alarcon, his suite and 
the crew. All faces are joyous save that of K'lk'K'ZO^. 
He speaks in a vionotojious tone half to himself 

The Herald. Let all the officers 

Attend the Admiral's announcement. 

Alarcon. Friends, 

We have tried and failed. There is no more to say. 

I merely speak now to encourage you 

To face what will be harder than this north. 

'Twill take a braver spirit to return 

Than to remain. For Welcome only smiles 

Upon successful men, and we are failures. 

As for Don Coronado and his men. 

They have, no doubt, ere this reached that far land, 

Found their desires and do not need our aid. 

Yet we have tried. You are all brave and strong, 

And ruin seems unjust ; some are still young 

And may win Fortune back. But I am old. 

Age is a heavy thing — what sound was that ? 

\_Noises of C7'ies and running feet and splashes 
are heard below and from the water. En- 
ter a Sailor running. 
Sailor. Two men have pushed off with a head for 
shore 1 



EL DORADO 



47 



Alar. Where ? 

Sailor. Here, off port ! 

An Officer We cannot catch them now. 

They have the new longboat. 

Alar. There is no need, 

We want no cowards to return. 

Perth. Who are they ? 

Ubeda. I cannot tell. 

Alar. What does the lookout say ? 

A Sailor. \Fr07n tJie shroiids.~\ I see them now I It 

is the Admiral's page 1 
Ubeda. The boy I 
Perth. And helpless I 

[They exchange a hurried glance and rush below. 

Alar. Tristan I He's no coward I 

Some one has led him off I Who is the man ? 

The Lookout. A convict from the galleys. 

Alar. Bring them back 1 

The boy is mad I 

An Officer. \_From the ship''s side.'\ Some one starts 

in pursuit. 
Look, there slips the old boat beneath our bows ! 
Alar. Who's in her? 

An Officer. One is the good priest, Ubeda, 

The other is the silent English soldier ! 
Alar. Good I They are men will bring them back or 

diel 

[ The Lookout aloft gives a cryi\ 
What now ! 
Lookout. The first boat beaches I 



48 EL DORADO 

Alar. That is well, 

Pursuit will be far easier by land. 
Poor little Tristan 1 Youth makes him unhappy — 
And how with me ? Oh, is it age — or life ? 

Scene 2 . — After?ioo?i of same day. A desolate and rocky 
place on the eastern shore. The end of a small blind 
canon. Enter Beatrix in armour with raised visor. 
She is stopped by ivall of rock to which she twns her 
back and faces Perth who follows close behind. 

Perth. You must be mad ! This heat has turned 

your brain ! 
Beatrix. Perhaps — \^To herself '\ — but not my heart. 
Perth. What would you do ? 

Beat. Stay here. 
Perth. To starve ? 

Beat. I have starved all my life. 

It will be no new thing. 
Perth. But all your life I 

What words ! You know not what life is. 
Beat. Do you ? 

Perth. Do I know what life is ! It is to starve. 
Beat. Return to hunger then, I will seek food. 
I know not with what spirit you pursue me. 
If it is kindness, you are thanked. Then go. 
If you wish cruelty — you shall thank me. 
For I will show you blood of mine or yours. 
Perth. Poor troubled boy — [^He approaches her. 
Beat. \_In desperate excitement.'] Stand back ! 

\_She draws her sword. 



EL DORADO 



49 



Perth. You must return. 

Upon the ship your mind will come again. 

\_He goes nearer. 
Beat. \Fiercely.'\ Back I 

Perth. It grows late. Your arm is not like mine. 

See, mine is trained. 

Beat. Once more, do not advance ! 

Perth. Be wary then, stand fast, I will not harm you. 

\He drains his s7vord.'\ 
The sport may smooth your brow. Watch for my 

trick, 
For at the third pass I will have your weapon 
By the old Stratford twist — 
Beat. You shall have death ! 

[Zr<? advances a pace. She rushes desperately 
at hi?n. They fight. Perth coolly, Beatrix 
with hot, murderous intefit. 
Perth. Once 1 
Beat. Back ! 

Perth. Twice ! 

Beat. Queen of Heaven — 1 

Perth. Three times ! 

[He tiuists the sword from her hand. 
Beat. Ah 1 

\She falls fainting into a half-sitting posture 
against the sloping wall of rock at her back. 

Perth. Sweet lad, you are not wounded ! 'Tis a 

swoon. [He goes to her^ 

The corselet binds his neck and breast — here's air — 



50 EL DORADO 

[Ife fears open her armour at the throat and 
bends over to listen at her heart, then stag- 
gers i>aek.^ 
Dear God — [She stirs and half rises. 

Beat. Mary — 

\_She sees Perth sfari?ig at her and stands up- 
right clutching her loosened corselet at the 
throat?^ 

You know — 

Perth. O pitiful ! 

Beat. What will you do ? 

Perth. Who are you ? 

Beat. You know not, 

Nor shall. 

Perth. Why did you come ? 

Beat. It is a vow 

To Holy Church. Now go. 

Perth. Where ? 

Beat. To the ships. 

Perth. With you. 

Beat. No, not alive! 

Enter Ubeda. 
Ubeda. Have done with words. 

The ships are gone I 
Beat. Gone ! 

Ubeda. See where the low sun 

Reddens that highest rock. An hour ago 
I gained that point to overlook the fleet 
In time to see each weary-freighted galleon 
Swing slowly from her moorings and point south. 



EL DORADO 



51 



Perth. Alarcon ! 

Ubeda. He is blameless. When we landed 

We first ran southward and we did not turn 

While their strained eyes could follow. They now 

think 
To coast down stream attending us to-night 
And sight us at the dawn. 
Perth. But they will not. 

Ubeda. No, we can never overtake them now. 
Beat. Mother of Pity, I thank thee for this boon I 
Ubeda. \_Looking at her.'] Poor lad — 
Perth. Ubeda, do you see? 

Ubeda. Ah yes, still mad. 

Perth. O do you not see what the pity is ? 
Beat. It is not now a thing deserving pity 
More than at any time since that far day 
When God's own mother knew her earliest grief. 
Ubeda. A woman ! Well, God has no bitterer grief 
In store for you than that you should be here. 
How happens it ? 

Perth. She says it is a vow. 

Ubeda. Are you a nun ? 

Beat. Yes, of a secret order. 

I go to set up new shrines to my patron. 
Ubeda. The one shrine now left to us is the grave. 
Perth. A hope remains. 

Ubeda. Remains 1 And on your lips 1 

Perth. Only the hope of further life, no more. 
At noon, hot in pursuit, I passed a village 
Where dwell a people native to this place — 
Rude, kindly men who made me know by signs. 



52 EL DORADO 

Pointing toward the birthplace of the sun, 

That there they had seen men Hke to ourselves. 

Beat. Life ! 

Ubeda. And how far ? 

Perth. A journey of ten days. 

Ubeda. It is the only path left for our feet. 

Perth. Where is the convict ? 

Ubeda. I have left him bound 

The third part of a league below this place. 

Perth. No doubt his wrongs are many, being, as 

he is, 
A living thing. He must share in our hope. 
Ubeda. He shall. 

Perth. Yet she — he left the ship with her. 

'Tis best that she continue to appear 
To him the page, a boy. 
Ubeda. He shall not know. 

Perth. When you return I will go seek for her 
Some lodgment in the village through this night 
Where she may have a woman to attend her. 

\Exit Ubeda. 

[Perth stands silent for a time during which 
Beatrix several times tries to strengthen 
her will to speak. At last she does so. 

Beat. Forgive me. 

Perth. And for what ? 

Beat. All my wild words 

To you who are so gentle. 

Perth. Yesterday 

And yesterhour and all past time leaves us 



EL DORADO 



S3 



Nothing, not even ourselves. We change and change 

Ever, not being aware till afterward. 

Would it not be idle to remember words ? 

Bubbles of bubbles ? Light things, wandering chords, 

Voiced by a passing and impermanent wind ? 

Beat. I myself do not change. 

Perth. Ah, do you not ? 

And yet an hour ago you seemed to be 

What now you are not. 

Beat. Yet an hour ago 

My soul composed itself of the same thing 

That fills it with one hope, one wish, one will : 

To journey eastward. 

Perth. [Dreamily as he looks at herj] 

What is in the east ? 

Beat. Did you not say he said, " men like ourselves " ? 
Perth. So — 

Beat. It is — Coronado and his men I 

Perth. [Siill as in a dream with his eyes fixed tipon her 
faceJ] You go to set up shrines, and to what saint ? 
Beat. No saint, but to an image of all the world. 
Perth. Look, in the west are images enough I 
Beat. It is red. 

Perth. But with the red of ruins, 

Ruins of flaming shrines, not one remains 
Inviolate as the devouring sun 
Deepens its wormlike course to the world's edge. 
Below it wait the gilded images. 
Behind, above, a train of dying sparks. 
Beat. O, but to-morrow I [She turns her face. 

Perth. And what then ? 



54 



EL DORADO 



Beat. The east I 

Perth. [Siarfmg.] Ah, yes — I had forgotten — I 

— O God, 
This is that spirit of Youth's Hope that died 1 
Died ? It was hardly born. 'Twas buried with me 
In the first darkness. 

Beat. Hope is not a spirit. 

It is a sea stretching before our path. 
Ah, it is sweet 1 sweet ! How else could I live, 
Or any mortal thing ? Sir, take my hand. 
May I not help ? The sea is infinite. 
Can you catch some sound or sight of it ? 
Perth. Yes, it is in your eyes like some great blossom 
Poised on the vibrant bosom of a pool. 
Beat. But, oh, do you not also see it there ? 

\She points to the east. 
Perth. The curtain of the years hangs like the night 
Across the world, — 

\She turns again to himl\ 

Yet dawn is in your eyes. 
Beat. And in yours too, there is reflected light. 
Perth. Is it so ? 

Beat. There is a light as of old embers 

Rekindling. 

Perth. Fragments of old dawns are there. 

Beat. I see them ! 

Perth. Or some long-since buried sun. 

Now ice and iron. 

Beat. But they begin to glow 

Faintly into a hint of rose-hued fire. 
Perth. It is from the east. [ With his eyes on hers. 



EL DORADO 



55 



Beat. Yet in the east. 

It may leap into flame, 

[He does not take his eyes from hers, but stands 
silent.'\ 

Sir, do you sleep ? 
Perth. \_Fifia//y rousing.'] I do not know which is 

the sleep and which 
The awakening. 

Enter Ubeda 7(.nth the Convict, 7vho stands some dis- 
tance apart from the others. 

Ubeda, The man will go with us. 

Take heart 1 behold a sign there overhead ! 

The sky is clear ; we seem to have left behind 

That evening cloud-bank westward. 

Perth. In the west 

To-day's sun dies, being old. 

Beat. But in the east — 

Perth. To-morrow ! 

Curtain 



ACT III 



Scene i . — Night. — Ten days later. — Interior of the 
West Rootn in Casa Grande, Arizojta. The room is 
large, rectangular, and lined toith red ochre glazed like 
enamel. The audience is supposed to look into one of 
tlie long sides of the Hall. Near the right end of the 
rear wall is a lo7V doorzciay. Against the wall of the 
right end is fixed a large beam evideiitly falle?i from 
the roof. Totvai'd the right from the center of the room 
and nearly on a line with the doorway, is a great pile 
of camp trappings ; blankets, cloaks, arms. Upon this 
heap is seated Coronado. His head is sunken on his 
breast, his eyes are staring, and his dress greatly dis- 
ordered. His appearance is that of one plunged in the 
most abject despair and turetchedness of body and mind. 
Most of the time he does not raise his head. Before 
him stands an Officer of the guard. 

Officer. The outside watch was first to question 

them. 
Coronado. What manner of beings are they ? 
Off. One 's a man. 

The second is fashioned like a slender youth. 
The third one is a priest. The fourth, a slave. 

Cor. First I will see the man. 

\_Exit Officer.] 

More and yet more 
59 



6o EL DORADO 

Each scorpion hour along each bleeding league 

Drives me more close toward the desperate truth. 

Wraiths, fogs, mists, clouds, what a chimera quest I 

All was before my eyes yet nothing seen. 

Mendoza or Estrada, Hate or Fear, 

One of these two, or both, by these foul means 

Has thus rid Mexico of all its flower. 

Estrada 1 It was he that prisoned her ! 

'Tis he that sends me out to die, and now — 

Enter Officer tvith Perth. 

O creeping things ! He dogs me with these spies 1 

I've heard your story. 

Perth. It is well — 

Cor. a lie 1 

The tale was sickly and is dead already. 

All lie ! There is no truth I Fray Nizza lied ! 

We have seen no gold save in the fatal sun. 

Dry flats, like those in upper hell, led on 

Only to hills more desolate with thirst. 

And red lights mocked our thirst, and yellow lights 

Our dreams of bread. And every purple night 

Was charged with unseen cohorts of the pit 

And unknown dread, until this night, and now — 

Now they assume the likenesses of spies ! 

Enough ! Summon the priest. 

\The Officer goes to the doonvay and im- 
mediately retwns with Ubeda.] 

You feign to have come 
North with Alarcon ? 



EL DORADO 6i 

Ubeda. Feign I 

Cor. Where is Alarcon ? 

Ubeda. He has returned to Port Natividad. 

Cor. And wliere is that .'' 

Ubeda. Upon a mighty gulf 

Thwarted from the main sea by certain lands 

Named California. 

Cor. O perverted tongue ! 

Natividad looks on the open sea. 

\_IIe iur?is to the Officer with a gesture of dis- 
gust.'] 
Another 1 

[The Officer brings the Convict from the 

doorway.] 
Fellow, are you too a liar ? 
Convict. Why yes, I am alive, and all who live 
Must cheat the gibbet some way, and a lie 
Is but a way. Yes, it is my way. 
Cor. Faugh ! 

Bring in the other. 

\_The Officer brings in Beatrix armoured 
and with closed visor.] 

Put your beaver up. 
\_There is a pause during 7vhich Beatrix stands 
shrinkingly. Then, at a gesture of impa- 
tience from CoRONADO, the Officer makes 
as though he would force the beaver. At 
this movement Perth moves threateningly 

toward hi?n.] rev ^ n 

^ . , -" \Fointtng to FKRru. 

Seize me that man ! 

[Perth is seized and bound. 



62 EL DORADO 

Ubeda. [Raising his crucifix warningly.'^ The face 

must not be seen. 
It is a vow to Rome, and Peter's curse 
Rests upon him who violates. 
Cor. [Recoiling.'] The Church I 

Ubeda. Vows have been made not to unveil the face 
Or even speak till all things be fulfilled. 
Cor. The chain is now complete ; if at the first 
Suspicion was afloat, now it is grounded. 
I know you well, false priest, and you, grey man. 
From the first day your face has haunted me. 
That day I sought a lady, you were there ! 
Even then you were Estrada's loathsome henchman. 
As for the raising of that visor front 
I care not. I have seen deceit enough. 
But one thing troubles me : this friar's cowl 
Is worn unworthy, yet Rome's beneath it. 
I may not touch — but you, and you, and you 
Die! 

Ubeda. You are mad ! 

Cor. [ Wildly.'] Words to the winds ! At dawn 

Death comes. Go, let them now be shrived. 

[Perth makes a despairing movement toward 
Beatrix and then turns to Coronado. 
Perth. You know not what you do. This iron shell 
Holds all the tenderness in earth or sky, 
A — 

[Beatrix starts fortvard with a warning ges- 
ture ; he pauses. 
Cor. How he raves ! He's in no mood for shriving. 
Bide here awhile. Bind him against that pillar. 



EL DORADO 63 

His soul cannot be saved while his rage foams. 
Let the flood first subside. Lead out the others. 

\Tiie Officer binds Perth to the right end 
tvali of the room. 

Ubeda. May I have speech with him ? 

Cor. No plots avail, 

Yet — pray, you two, bearing in memory 

That schemes to save his body are all futile. 

Quiet his soul and you will do your utmost. 

\^Exeunt all save Perth and Ubeda, Beatrix 
and the Convict being carefully guaj-ded. 

Perth. Follow him ! Cut these thongs ! O Name of 

God! 
She, even she, like all the rest of it 
Vanishes. She will suffer pain ! Go, go I 
Tell of her womanhood ! — 
Ubeda. We vowed to her 

To hold that above all things secretly ; 
Yet I will break oath if all else does fail. 
You too are safe. Be without thought of death. 
I hold within my memory a thing 
Which, whispered into Coronado's ear, 
Will set you free, but I will whisper nothing 
Till all else fails. That he has suffered wrongs 
Is evident. His mind peers to the abyss. 
Perth. Wrongs 1 He has suffered wrongs, and he 

would give 
Wounds to a human soul, pain to a body ? 
Pain to a body and soul like hers ? Ubeda, 



64 EL DORADO 

What can he know of evil who does so ? 

Why we, who know pain, stand before one painless 

Like her, as one who looks on all of heaven. 

Her eyes blind me. Her breath bereaves my lips. 

Her hands have made mine feeble in her presence. 

Her silences have drenched me with all music. 

The faintest, tender stirring of her voice 

Makes mute my own. Her hair has made this desert 

A shadowed place alive with bloom. Her brow 

Has awed me like some symbol of the sky. — 

The images of seas of fire and snow 

Pent in the colours of her blood and flesh, 

Drown me. 

Ubeda. O has the thing I watched and feared 

Grown so beyond all reckoning? 

Perth. You feared! What? 

Ubeda. That which is audible without your voice. 

Perth. Ah, what? 

Ubeda. The deadliest hurt of all your life. 

Perth. Put it in words. 

Ubeda. You love her. 

[Perth's head sinksi\ 
Then if Death, 
Utmost, forgetful Death, could come to you 
This hour, it might be wise and best. 
Perth. And why ? 

She is no nun ! 

Ubeda. I know not who she is, 

Or if her love is given to any man ; 
But love had filled her eyes already full 
Before she came. 



EL DORADO 65 

Perth. Her eyes have shown me dawn. 

Ubeda. Thmk of the years that passed you in the 

night. 
She holds you as a father, but no more. 
Perth. Her eyes have shown me day. 
Ubeda. But nothing more. 

The love you seek, the urge of youth for youth, 
She cannot give you, for between you, Time 
With visible sword and unreturning face 
Drives you by separate paths, alone, apart. 
Perth. The world has grown athrob with crimson fire. 
And shall no spark find lodgment in my heart? 
Ubeda. Have you forgotten all ? The search ? The 

sign ? 
The cross ? The hand ? 
Perth. The boy I 

Ubeda. He is not dead. 

\_Enter a Soldier leading Beatrix, whom he 
chains to the long wall in the background 
and a little to the left of the doonvay. The 
positions <?/ Perth a«// Beatrix are there- 
fore at near points on the lines of the same 
right angle. 

Soldier. This one is shrived. \Exit. 

Ubeda. I will go seek Don Francis 

And reason with him if I find him calm. \Exit. 



66 EL DORADO 



Scene 2. — The same. — Perth and Beatrix remain 
in silence for a time. Finally she raises her hands 
to her head with a gesture of both weariness and 
lojiging. 

Perth. I pray you raise the casque, 

\She lifts the visor?\^ 
There are no tears 
Nor trace of any anguish on your face ! 
Beatrix. What hour is it ? 

Perth. I do not know ; 'tis late. 

Beat. The night is hot, I would some water came : 
A Uttle — in a hand — \_To herself '\ a hand I know. 
Perth. You suffer ! I will call the guard — 
Beat. Do not. 

The thing has passed. 

Perth. Your eyes rove ceaselessly 

Toward the door, as with some new-lit fire 
Of eagerness. 

Beat. Will he not soon return ? 

Perth. Who ? 

Beat. He whose voice I heard. 

Perth. Don Coronado's? 

Beat. What other sound was there to hear ? 
Perth. Fear nothing. 

Beat. I do not, 'tis not long till dawn, and then — 
Perth. It will not be the end. 
Beat. No, the beginning. 

Perth. I will disclose to him how far remote 



EL DORADO 67 

That steely veil is from the veil of you, 

The yoii that wears no mask but womanhood. 

Beat. Are you a breaker of vows ? 

Perth. 'Tis for your life. 

Beat. I bind you to your oath. When that last hour 

Sheds its great period of joy upon me 

I promise he shall know. 

Perth. Then you are safe. 

The martyrdom you seek shall not be found. 

He will not then give you to Death. He could not, 

Knowing. 

Beat. Let be then, if you so believe. 

Trouble no more. 

Perth. I will not. After all, 

Even afterward Ubeda's gentle spirit 

Will guard and give you shelter — afterward. 

Beat. After? Ah, you — he said it — and you, too, 

Will die, and on my head your death 1 

Perth. Not yours. 

Nor against any mortal thing can blood be. 

All is upon the secret, never mortal, 

Above, beyond, behind us ; the pursuer. 

Beat. No, I am not deceived, I led you here. 

My will has been the cause, though if unwitting 

Let the saints judge, 'twill be recorded justly. 

In this last hour I am not penitent. 

A great and numbing calm is over me. 

Perth. It seems to fold me also in its wings, 

A calm more riotous than any storm. 

Beat. I seem part of the dumb, unfeeling earth, 

Earth that awaits the sun to quicken it. 



68 EL DORADO 

And yet — out of all dead regrets, one only, 

One figure, yours — looms grey before my face. 

Your tenderness, your gentle offices 

Which I have paid with death. I would I might 

Now, last of all give something — if 't could be. 

Some leaven for all the woe that I have brought. 

Some recompense, — but there is nothing left. 

The dawn is all I have, but, ah — the dawn ! 

Perth. [^Mistaking /ler.^ You would have given of 

youth — to me? 
Beat. Ah, Youth I You still desire as though 'twere real ? 
Why, 'tis no tangible thing that one might give. 
Yet if it were, you would have all of it. 
All I possess. And yet — 'tis but a hue. 
Perth. [ Wif/i a great light of peace in his eyes.'j 
It is enough. See, there above our heads ! 
Beat. The roof is shattered. 

Perth. And the night pours in 

Softly from its exhaustless silences. 
I have so little time — only the night 
Before I join it, but I ask no more — 
Till dawn the dark was all, and now, this hour, 
The dawn has come. 

Beat. Why no, 'tis yet long hours 

Away. 

Perth. The fallacies of day and night 
Fade for this little while before my eyes 
And in their place a radiance has sprung 
That knows no periods. It is the flame 
That crowns the eternal terraces of stars 
From which the suns are hurled I It is the light 



EL DORADO 69 

That gilds the flinty ramparts of the moon ! 

It is the abiding torch of silver glow 

Within the zone-gem of unchanging morning! 

Beat. I see no light, yet I am glad for you, 

For in your eyes my words seem to have lit 

Something, some good, but whether peace or hope, 

Or even happiness, I know not, yet 'tis good ; 

So I am glad. Ah, how the hours crawl on ! 

This quiet deafens me — there is a sound ! 

No, it was here within. There ! What was that? 

Perth. [ With his eyes upon her face.'] Music. 

Beat. W'hy no, there is no sound — but — silence. 

Perth. Silence outside, but we two are within. 

Beat. Something approaches swiftly, I am cold. 

Perth. Have no fear. 

Beat. 'Tis fear itself. Ah — now 1 

Ejiter a Soldier. 
\^He unchaifis Beatrix and starts out with her. 
Perth. What is it ? I am bound — but one word — 
what ? 

[Exit Soldier with Beatrix. 



Scene 3. — The same. — Enter stealthily in a crouching 
attitude the Convict. Once inside, hoivever, his man- 
ner becomes one of bold and insolent bravado. He 
stands before Perth with arms akimbo. 

Convict. Trussed 1 And well done too, or I was born 
blind. W^ell, it's a good thing to have the doors 
barred once in a while ; so we get a chart of the cells 



70 EL DORADO 

and the prisoners named. For look you, in each 
part of the body of man dwells an old comrade. The 
right hand \_Pointing to Perth'' s hajid with a knife\ , 
his name is Murder, and a very high-coloured blade 
he is. Watch him, for he is given to picking locks. 
The left hand \Pointing\ in there is Friend Thievery. 
Feed him well, for he pays for his keep. They're not 
all good, though, for here in the lowest dungeons are 
the feet, and w^ell they deserve their place. Bawds, 
panders, that have led me as bravely to a noose as 
they ever did to wine or a wench. There be some 
doors left open. Here's one, the mouth. Inside dwells 
Lying, a very trusty fellow once, but long ago worn 
out; he is old, he is old. And the eyes, there's cells 
that have held many a prisoner. \^He at last sees the 
gaze that Perth bends upon him.^ Jesu I There's 
devils in them now 1 \Slinking backward?^ Take 
them off me ! I meant nothing. 

Perth. Where did the soldier lead — the one in ar- 
mour? 

Convict. Soon told. It was the moon, the moon 
played us false, for somehow it sifted into the eyes 
of the young lord and he sees no colour but red. 
When the priest begged leave to plead for us he 
raved like a devil, and now he will not wait till morn- 
ing. From midnight, each hour one of us dies. Ha I 
have no care, the boy dies first. Much may happen 
before our time comes. When I heard him give the 
order I bit my bonds off, and here's a tooth will bit 
yours, for two rats can break the trap better than 
one. 



EL DORADO 71 

\^He cuts Perth's bonds. Perth upon behig 
released dashes toward the doorway. The 
Convict stays him before he reaches it.\ 
Go not out I There's nothing there but death. He is 

coming within here. 
Perth. Who, Death? 

Convict. Why no, the young lord. \A trumpet sounds^ 
There is the signal for sleep. He lodges in this room, 
he'll be here in a breath. We will crouch in the shade, 
and when his dreams overtake him, — we will over- 
take his dreams. 

[Perth suffers himself to be stayed as one not 
conscious of what he does. He walks slowly 
back to the center of the room. His lips 
move. 
Perth. Her arms — her breast — helpless — 

\_Before his eyes is the center stone with the sol- 
dierly trappings upon it. Prominetit among 
them are two arquebuses. As he stands he 
gradually comes to see them. 
Convict. \_At his back.'] But one swift stroke — 

[Perth starts as though smitten and stands for 
a moment. Then steadily and with full and 
cold determi?iation he takes the gu?is and ex- 
amines them carefully. They are loaded. 
They are of the wheel-lock variety^ and 
he 7vijids the wheels. He then takes one, 
leaving the other on the stone.] 
\^Starting forward.] Too loud. We want 
no noise. 



72 EL DORADO 

Perth. [^Leveling the gim at him.'] Men of my race 

Do not strike from behind, or against sleep, 

Or even in silence, if it be mifair, 

\_The Convict moves toivard him snarlifig a7id 
threateningly?^ 

Back to the shadows. Death is here. 

\The Convict stops and Perth trims toward 
the doorzuay, taking a feiv steps as though 
listening. He has utterly forgotten the 
presence of the Convict who, after standing 
viotiojiless for a moment, begiiis stealthily to 
creep toward Fertk, his face cofivulsed with 
rage and his dagger ready to strike, fust 
as he is about to do so Perth slowly turns, 
impelled by occult instinct of danger. He 
holds the Convict with his eyes, then walks 
slowly toivard him, the Convict slowly re- 
treating until he has reached a darkened cor- 
ner down stage, left, where he remains quelled 
for the time, but alert and venomous.] 
There wait. 
[Throjcghout the latter part of the past action 
noises have beenheard outside, of men talking 
afid tramping. They grow steadily louder. 
Perth 7iow half turjis and listens for a 
moment, then going to the place where he 
was bound he places his back to the sto?ie 
and stajids in an attitude sjiggesting his for- 
mer position, yet retaining the arquebuse. 
Enter Coronado still more disheveled and 
wild. He shouts back angrily aji order 



EL DORADO 73 

from the threshold, the7i advancing hito the 
center of the room he suddenly pauses, 
passes his hand over his brow ivith a ges- 
ture of desperate weariness and longing ; 
his mood changes and he seems about to col- 
lapse. He stands so for a moment, then, as 
by instinct, slowly raises his eyes and sees 
^^Kvn facing him with the arquebuse raised 
and leveled at his breasti\ 

The hour is late. Soon time will reach midnight, 
Upon whose sombre and ghost-yielding stroke 
You have ordained to stain the dark with death. 
You will revoke that doom. \He waits for reply. "^ 

Time still goes on — 
You will annul the order — \_IIe pauses again.] 

I would wait 
But the impatient minutes would touch twelve, 
And at the touch one dies. It shall not be 
The armoured prisoner 1 It shall not be 
You, if the prisoner's sentence is made void — 
By you, instead of Death. — \^JIe again zvaits.'] Choose. 
\_Anotherpat(se.'] Now. [A silence ensues."] 'Tis ended. 
Do not think of Justice as a thing 
Now deaci. You shall avenge. There is requital. 

\_He points to the arquebuse on the stone at Co- 
RONADo's side. Coronado has through- 
out remained motionless and dumb with his 
eyes fixed upon Perth as though fascinated 
by something in a dream. He now slowly 
turns his gaze upon the gunl\ 



74 EL DORADO 

You do not go alone. Take up the piece. 

[CoRONADO sloiuly comes to understand the 
woi'ds and mechanically takes the gun and 
points it, fumbling at the lock as if for the 
matchi\ 

The lock is wound. You shall give word to fire. 

\_As they face each other, Ubeda appears in the 
doorway. He stands aghast for a second, 
then makes an instinctiz'e movement toward 
them as though to save. Perth sees and 
addresses him.^ 

Bide there. You cannot stay the fatal wings 

That hover over us. \^To Cor.] I wait the signal. 

\_To Ubeda.] Move not or he shall die though he be 

dumb. 
[Again to CoR.] Once more. Declare the sign. 

[Ubeda makes again as though he tvould 
move to stay thetn, but Perth immediately 
steadies his aim at Coronado as though to 
fire at once, and the Priest again pauses, 
seemingly torn by some intvard struggle. 
Tiifice he essays to speak, then finally, seon- 
ing to cast aside some timer voice, he breaks 
silence. 
Ubeda. [Pointing to Coronado.] The sign is there 1 
Not for your ears, but for your soul's own eyes ! 
Look on the hand that fingers there your death I 
The right I The cross is there ! You have the sign I 
[Perth realizes that Coronado is his son. An 
iiistant later the Convict, who has until 



EL DORADO 75 

now remained in his corner behind CORO 
NADO, unknown to any save Perth, creeps 
swiftly ajid stealthily out with his dagger 
raised to strike Coronado in the back. 
Perth sees and acts instantaneously, shift- 
ing his gun toward the Convict and touch- 
ing it off just as the dagger is about to fall. 
The Convict pitches to the groujid. In- 
stantly all is confusion. Outside is heard 
the sounds of the cajnp awakening. Guards 
rush to the door. Perth stands motionless, 
his gun fallen, gazing at Coronado, 7aho 
seems to have been only half atuakeiied from 
his dream-like state by the shot. 

Voices Outside. Ho, guard ! Within ! 

Enter an Officer pushing aside the Guards 7aho crowd 
the doorway. 

Officer. Stand back I What violence here ? 

Don Francis, did you call ? 

Cor. \_Unnerved, pointing to Perth.] Lead him 
without. 

Ubeda. \_Springing forward. '\ Yield me but two gifts 
for an instant's use. 

Your eyes and brain. Look upon this dead hand ! 

See what it holds 1 Think what it meant to do 1 

Know it is dead and you alive 1 By what ? 

Not by the grace of one who is a spy ; 

For spies are enemies to their victim's safety. 

So, if he spied, 'twas only on the act 

Of him he killed. Will you now let him die ? 

Being innocent ? Being saviour of your life ? 



76 EL DORADO 

Cor. \_Shuddering, yet half convinced.'] I did not see. 
\_To the Officers and Guards.] Leave us. 

\_IIe motions for them to remove the body oj the 
Convict. They do so. Exeunt all but 
CoRONADO, Ubeda, and Perth.] 
\_DoiibtitigIy.'\ He sought to slay me. — 

Ubeda. Yet would not see you slain dishonourably. 

Cor. Ha 1 Is it true ? 

Ubeda. He only sought your life 

To save another. 

Cor. \^After a lo7ig pause.'] Yes, of a truth he did. 

And yet — he wished my death. — Yet — saved me 
from it. \_Suddenly deciding.'] 

The deed outweighs the earlier intention, 

And neither shows him less than honourable. 

Sir, forgive me. If I have seemed bloody, 

It was — the wound ; a wound I have received 

That numbs my judgment and makes all the world 

Appear masked as a plotter to deceive me. 

\^Si?ice the shot Perth has never taken his eyes 
from CoRONADO. He seems not conscious 
of what is being said. But now the sound 
of a trumpet a7id the tramp of feet are heard 
just outside and figures with torches are 
seen, through the doorway, passing. Perth 
starts violently a?id turns to the door. 

Perth. The hour ? O God ! Hasten, or even now 

The life will still elude us ! 

Cor. What life ? 

Perth. \_Ru fining to the doorway, ivhere he is stopped by 
the Guards.] All I 



EL DORADO 77 

Ubeda. The prisoner who there passes to the death. 
'Tis midnight — 

Cor. \_Remembering?\^ Hold ! The order will be stayed 
For further hearing. \_To the Guards.] Summon the 

condemned. 
Ubeda. Hearing there can be none save from our 

mouths. 
The prisoner's lips are sealed. \He signs the cross. 

Perth. Yet for those lips 

I whom you have judged innocent will vouch 
And give my life as surety. 
Cor. Enough 

Blood has been shed. Something is satiated, 
Something, I know not what. Malignant fiend 
Or sneering fate whatever name it bears 
'Gainst which suspicion is my only blade 
Has for a time withdrawn. I may disarm. 

[Beatrix is led in and Coronado addresses the 
Guard.] 

The prisoners are free. Let each be given 

Such lodgment as we have for officers. 

Show them their several tents. \_To Beatrix.] You 

have a vow, 
I will not hold you from fulfilling it. 
Go now. 

[ With sudden abandonment of love under mask 
of gratitude, Beatrix kneels, takes his hand 
and presses it to the helmet, theji to her 
breast. Coronado beholds the gesture with 
the mien of one who receives a mortal 



78 EL DORADO 

■wou7id. He stares at her a moment, then 
with a cry of desperation he speaks?^ 

What is it ? I — the deadly wound I 
It never heals. \To himself7\ 'Twas something in the 
gesture. \_He turns weakly to Perth a7ui Ubeda,] 
Stay, do not leave me yet. It is a fever 
— I must not be alone. 

[Beatrix, under stress of pozverful emotion, 
has staggered to the doorway, where she 
would fall bjit is supported by Ubeda who 
reaches her first. 
Ubeda. The pilgrim faints 

And must retire. 'Tis weariness. 
Cor. \_Feebly^ The guard 

Will see him safely to his quarters ; go. 

[Ubeda summo7is the Guard from Just with- 
out and gives Beatrix, who has now re- 
covered consciousness, ifito his charge. 
Exeunt Beatrix and Guard.] 
Speak to me, gentlemen ! I must not hear it ! [He 

seems to listen to something ujiheard by the others.'] 
The voice I It calls me now ! 

Perth. [Standing before him with his eyes fixed. 
Dreamily.'] The voice ! Ah, yes. 

Cor. Silence ! You do not hear. It is a moan 
Only for me and burdened with one word, 
" Return 1 " Why not ? [ Wildly and half to himself:] 

What is there here for her ? 
Not gold. And gold was all I came to seek — 
For her — to purchase life. And here is only 



EL DORADO 



79 



Death, and the echoing sob that wails my name 
And begs my presence. [He pauses to listen.'] It is 
ended now. 

[He speaks to empty air."] 

Rest you, dear heart, this night. At dawn we start. 

Perth. Where ? 

Cor. [More validly.'] To the bourne of best desires 

behind us. 
Perth. You would lose all ! 
Cor. Ha, lose ! No ! Find 1 

Perth. And what ? 

Cor. More than I gain by keeping on the way. 
Before me there is nothing. 
Perth. But behind — 

Cor. Is life ! 

Perth. Ah, no, but death. 

Cor. Be it so ; death lulls. 

[To himself^ A breast awaits me there to die upon. 
Perth. Yet even within the briefness of this moment 
You begged that we might speak and deafen you 
To this false summons. 

Cor. O God, speak again 1 

I must not falter so. 

Perth. Hold fast my hand. 

Cor. Why do you search me with your eyes ? You too 
Have suffered. Even now it writhes within you. 

[Perth, at the words, gazes at Coronado 
with such great longing and sorrow that the 
Priest, fearing he will break silence, bends 
forward and speaks to him aside. 



8o EL DORADO 

Ubeda. You that have heard, remember, other ears 
Must still be deaf, and you with lips released, 
Prison your tongue. 

Cor. Have you no word of help ? 

Perth. \_Controlling himself with a visible effort.'] 
You will not falter now. Far in the south 
There gleams an orb that seems to lure you back- 
ward. 
Use it not so ; it is a beacon lit 
To guide a conqueror. It would be obscured 
If you should face it now with vanquished eyes. 
Within the northern sky its lonely mate 
Burns its white fire nor ever lets us know 
How it may yearn toward the opposite heaven. 
Cor. The sky is cold. Your words creep in like 

winter, 
Cooling the feverish blood only to freeze it. 
Perth. [After a pause.'] And of your birth — be 

worthy. 
Cor. Ha I My birth 1 

Have I so sunk as to need such reminder ? 
" Be worthy," yes, it means, be strong, be true, 
And brave — and proud 1 For such has been the race 
That bore me. — 

You have won, — your low-breathed words 
Stir in me like the clarion of trumpets. 
I will not falter now. To you the thanks 
Belong. What man are you ? You seem to me 
Some cloud shaped like a man, sent from the sky 
To cool my heated vision of despair. 
Who are you ? 



EL DORADO 8i 

\_The Priest involuntarily makes a gesture of 
warning to Perth, but Perth does ttot 
seem to have heard the questiori. 
Perth. Shaped, sa)' you ? O more ! What part 

Of all these clay-born shadows that here strut 
And seem to will is not a driven mist. 
All grey ? Though some that face the dawn seem tinted, 
Yet the first breath of day dispels their colours, 
And with the earliest breath of fearsome night 
They themselves disappear. 
Cor. Ah, you are right, 

'Tis not the hour for questions. \He pauses and looks 

at Perth, who remains with his eyes fixed upon 

Coronado as though he did not heari] 

Well, muse on, 
To-morrow you may tell your name and rank. 
The night grows old, let us all search for sleep. 

[Perth mechanically makes to go^^ 
Not so; bide here. We will seek other quarters. 
I owe you much and I may yet again 
Owe more ; the pitfalls cluster, I am weak. 
Perth. You will not stumble now, the prize is near — 
And you have youth, and whosoe'er has youth — 
Has all, I — am not young. 

Cor. What ? You wish youth ? 

You whose very years have been the oil 
That soothed me ? Strange 1 Yet be of better cheer, 
'Tis there ! 

Perth. [Dully :\ Where ? 

Cor. In that Eden that awaits us, 

Eastward from the Seven Cities of Gold. 



82 EL DORADO 

Even yesterday I questioned one returning ; 
A sun-born native stripling in whom youth 
Seethed like a tide of dawn ; yet he was older 
Than twice a thousand years ! Each time he felt 
The withering beckoner within his blood, 
He sought Quevera and the hidden source, 
Laved his old limbs in that immortal rain 
And lived again 1 

\^He staj'ts to go afid addresses Ubeda.] 
Come, brother, you shall sleep 
Within my hall to give me aid at sunrise. 
With early mass and orison. [^To Perth.] Good night. 
Ubeda. \_To Perth.] And peace be with you. 
CoR. [Pausing o?i the threshold.'] And remember still 
The Font is there I [He points to the northeast. 

\Exeunt Coronado and Ubeda. Perth fol- 
lows CoRONADO with his eyes filled with un- 
utterable lojiging until he has gone. 

Perth. O God, 'tis everywhere 1 

But where for me ? Youth, love, or hope fulfilled, 

Whatever dew distils from out its depths. 

Sparkles till it has lured my eager lips 

And then sinks back. 'Tis in his desolate heart — 

And yet I may not drink. 'Tis in her eyes — 

And yet my own cannot be cooled by it. 

The wilderness of life is full of wells, 

But each is barred and walled about and guarded. 

The ocean's floor of moving emerald 

Holds not one drop in all its depths for me. 

The liquid arch of dawn, the plangent seas 



EL DORADO 83 

That foam with all the stars, draw back their waves 
To lonely heights that mock my upraised face 
With thirsts that look to me as I to them. 

The Source 1 Can it be true ? O may it not be ? 

May it not at last await me in that garden 

To which we bleed our way through all this waste? — 

One cup — some little chalice that will hold 

One drop that will not shudder into mist 

Till I have drained it. Can it be ? 

\He looks tip through the broken ceiling.'] 

The night 
Dreams like a child that waits, and may not I, 
Whose portion seems to be only — the night — 
Share also its untroubled — hope ? 

\_IIe stands for a jnoment so ; looking up and 
repeats the word as though speaking to 
some one.'] 

— Hope. 

Curtain 



ACT IV 



Scene i . — One year later. Behveen midnight and 
dazan. The top of bluffs on the west bank of the Mis- 
souri River. Soldiers encamped. Some asleep, some 
gambling, others talking. In the foreground is CoRO- 
NADO seated with a young Officer who is playing a 
lute afid singing. Back of them is Perth wrapped in 
his cloak, pacing slowly up and down and stopping 
from time to time. 

The Officer. {_Singing?^ 

I knew some dream had spelled her by 

Her charmed air. 

Would God I might have held her by 

Her long, bright hair ! 

I gave her something like a star, 

And she gave me, instead, 

Roses, but the roses are 

Dead. 
CoRONADO. No more such songs. Why should all 

sounds to-night 
Be sad ? 

A Youth. Yet still sing something. 
The Singer. Why not this ? 

\^Si7^ging^^ Tears, the blood of Old Love's ghost — 
Cor. That speaks no lighter dreaming. 
The Youth. Sing to us 

Something that breathes of hearts, yet tells no sadness. 

87 



88 EL DORADO 

The Singer. No mouth has breath in it that could 
so sing. 

Cor. Give us some piece tuned to the summer night, 

Warm with the call of memories of kisses. 

The Singer. Of them I cannot sing, they sing them- 
selves, 

But of the hour when they are born I will : 

What is it calls to me, sweet, sweet, 

Out of the night ? 
Lo, a star comes down with soundless feet 

And a sudden light. 
It has shown one singing a thing of hope 

With a tune of fears. 
The words now run to a joy, now grope 

To a place of tears. 
Whose eyes are these that were made to weep. 

But never see ? 
What voice is this that wafts all sleep 

From night and me ? 
O face of the wild, wild brow ! 
O wings of the weary dove ! 
Come, for I know you now, 
Love ! 
The Youth. \_Rishig and coming forward.'\ 
Yet it is sad ; but ah, once on a night — 
Cor. Leave off and think no more on things unreal, 
Think of the morrow's sun, what it will bring. 
The Singer. The sun has sometimes failed. 
Cor. But not to-morrow's I 

The guides have sworn by cross and book and flame. 



EL DORADO 89 

That they speak truth. 

The Youth. And I believe. 

The Singer. I doubt. 

Cor. Good ensign, you came first ; did you see nothing ? 

The Youth. Night had already fallen, I could see 

Only that some great valley lies below us, 

Whose depths seemed fathomless to me and yet — 

Cor. {^Breathlessly. '\ And — What? 

The Youth. I seemed to hear the sigh of water 

Lifting its restless bosom from some bed — 

[Perth has paused behind the group and is 
listenijig eagerly. Coronado springs to his 
feet. They look into each other's eyes, each 
reading the other's hope or belief. 

The Singer. \Rising^ It may — 

Cor. It must. 

Perth. The River ! 

Cor. Eden itself I 

Hoi Rouse all heads at once ; so that all eyes 

May look and see now what all hearts have longed for. 
\The Singer seizes a trumpet and blows the 
awakenitig call. The men stir and rise 
sleepily. 

An Officer. [^Salutifig.'] We wait your bidding. 

Cor. Then no longer wait. 

The topmost hour of each of your high fortunes 

Looms on your sight. Go, and prepare for life 1 

And I, myself, will furnish my commands. 

Leave not one hope undreamed! 

[Exeunt Coronado and Officer in opposite 
directions. 



90 EL DORADO 

A Soldier. \_Stuviblmg to his feet7\ Blast me all 

trumpets ! 
2D Sold. We're waked before we sleep. 
3D Sold. Why were we waked? 

4TH Sold. How long till dawn ? 
1ST Sold. A quartern hour. 

3D Sold. What think you, 

Does Paradise await us with the day? 
2D Sold. It lies spread out below like a great feast, 
Which Day will serve us. 

3D Sold. What shall we first gather 

At this good banquet? 
2D Sold. Gold. 

1ST Sold. What next? 

4TH Sold. Aye Gold ! 

3D Sold. For me a plenished paunch. 
2D Sold. If there be maidens — 

1ST Sold. Ah ! 

Enter Coronado. 
Cor. Form and march to break the night's 

encampment, 
Then wait until I come to lead from night 
To day ! 

\_Exeiint Soldiers. Coronado then turns to 
Perth who has continued to stand motion- 
less?^ 
And still you stand as though unhearing. 
Perth, And yet I hear. 

CoR. You peer into the air 

As one long blind. 



EL DORADO 91 

Perth. And yet I see. 

Cor. \Turning from him.'] The moments 

Seem without end or even a beginning. 

Perth. 'Tis now the last deep shudder of the dark 

Before it dies. 

Cor. And to us dies forever I 

We will stand here, we two, till this last shadow 

That thwarts our souls from hope shall pass from 

earth. 
You who have saved me for this hour shall share it. 
Together we will see what mortal eyes 
Have seen not since they first gave birth to tears. 
Perth. Upon the entrance pathway there was one 
Placed with a flaming sword turned every way, 
Yet we have passed through flame. 
Cor. And mist. 

Perth. And darkness. 

Cor. There I Was that not an arrow of light that rose 
Above the garden ? 

Perth. 'Twas a star that fell. 

It bodes — 

CoR. A good I It was our evil star 1 

This night it died and now has sunk forever 
To cindrous night in the remote horizon ! 
Perth. And now, in that far edge, as though a seed 
Were sown, there is a hint of budding grey, 
A bud not wholly innocent of night. 
And yet a colour. Earth may well now wait. 
Cor. But see, it dies I 

Perth. Yet now it blooms again I 

Whiter and with a rumour of hidden trumpets 



9 2 EL DORADO 

One lance of dawn heralds a myriad hues 

That follow it 1 

Cor. Now they begin to rise 1 

There are the ghosts of all the pearls that wait 

Our gathering ! 

Perth. And deep and faint beneath them 

Is promise of that reawakened rose 

Which quickens in the blood of all whose lips 

Are cooled by that deep cup which waits our own. 

Cor. There are the imaged, passionate hearts of 

rubies ! 
Perth, And here are gems all quiet with deep azure, 
Or the untroubled cool of wakening green I 
Cor. Silver I And amethyst ! O rose-born air 1 
The colours seem like music or sweet odours I 
There's gold I At last — in all these months, the first 1 
Yonder low cloud is all one piece of it I 
All mirroring the bright richness of the dream 
Still veiled beneath us. Will we not be blind 
When all the sudden glory breaks upon us 
Within a few swift breaths ? 

[Perth is stajiding apart utihearitig. Coro- 
^ADOspeaks rather to himself than to Perth.] 
Her eyes alone 
Could look upon it, being more glorious. 
Her eyes 1 O have my own been even so briefly 
Dazzled to the forgetting of the prize 

By the poor means to it 1 

Enter an Officer. 

Officer. The soldiers beg 

To be led down at once into the vale. 



EL DORADO 93 

Cor. No, from these heights they first must look 

upon it 
Lest they go blind and mad on going close 
With unaccustomed eyes. Yes, I will lead them 
First, here and swiftly for the light draws near. 

\_Exejint CoRONADO and Officer. 
Perth. The stars leave now their mighty cavalcade 
Faster and faster, each to its own rest. 
They will not see full day nor the day's beauty, 
Yet each was faithful to the light it kept ; 
Holding lone vigil without hope of sight, 
Nor aid of touch, across wide space, from others. 
No voice, no breath, no word of any sound 
Came to one watcher from another one. 
And yet each had its light, and having light 
It well could be content — and beyond all 
Unto them now, for a space, is given rest. 
Unto whom else, unto what other thing ? 

Enter frofn the opposite side Beatrix. After looking 
intently toward Coronado retreati?ig, then furtively 
on all sides, she raises her visor. 

Beatrix. What do you see that look'st so fixedly ? 

Perth. Light I 

Beat. And what more ? 

Perth. Colours ! 

Beat. But what beside ? 

Perth. Day stirs but faintly as yet beneath the dawn, 

I cannot see what dream it will uncover. 

Beat. To me it seems all mist. 

Perth. Do you see nothing ? 



94 



EL DORADO 



Beat. Nothing with open eyes. 

Perth. Then with eyes closed ? 

Beat. Behind shut lids they seem at last to see 

Forelightnings of some long-impending storm. 

Perth. But storms banish all colours from the sky — 

Beat. Yet leave it white. 

Perth. But life is never so. 

Beat. It is the hue of Peace. 

Perth. Once in the west 

You pointed to this hour and bade me see, 

And sight has come to me — but you ? For you 

Where is hope fled ? 

[Beatrix moved at last to tell him her secret. 
Beat. It has come even more near : 

This day my vows will end and be fulfilled. 
Perth. Fulfilled I 

Beat. At last, what sudden thing has thrilled 

Your eyes into a gaze that seems like blindness ? 
Perth. [ With the hesitation of a mighty hopei\ To 

end a vow is to be freed from it. 
Beat. \^Ingenuously.'\ And I am free from all past 

vows, but ever 
New bonds are being woven that enmesh me 
Most willing prisoner. 
Perth. O say you so, 

Seeing the fountain has not yet appeared? 
Beat. Why, how could such a bubble weigh or lighten 
My dear captivity ? 

Perth. But crushing time 

Lifts from my body yet not one dead hour. 
Beat. Ah, yes, I had forgotten even the things 



EL DORADO 



95 



That others seek, in dreaming on the one 
Which is my own desire. Yes, for you, water — 
Perth. \_Still blindly mistaking her.'\ And you — you 

search — 
Beat. For what, I pray, has thirst. 

For I bear with me that which may give solace. 
Perth. [^Unsteadily.'] You have told this to me — 

your lips have framed it ? 
Beat. [^Gratefully.'] Why should I not — O you, 

without whose aid 
There would be now no framing and no lips ? 
Perth. [Stricken with iitfinite joy.] Not now. [He 

turns half fro7n her with an effort^ Look not into 

my face lest terror 
Enter you from that awe which lights like fire 
My wintry vision — a little longer still 
I will withhold, but oh ! not for myself, 
Only until the other cup that waits me 
Shall make me ready. 
Beat. [Listless and wholly uncomprehending. With her 

face to the east.] Ah, the sweet, near wind ! 
[She turns again to him.] 

I cannot fathom what your words may mean ; 
But you will find, and soon, no doubt, the end 
Of all your yearning. 
Perth. It is ended now. 

There is no yearning beyond this perfect hour. 
Beat. I do not know, the garden still is veiled. 
Yet you do well to hope. 
Perth. A few breaths more 

And we shall both meet all hopes face to face — 



96 EL DORADO 

Beat. And so possess them — 

Perth. All. 

Beat. Or none. 

\^T/ie fioise of returning troops is heard. 

Perth. The men ! 

[Beatrix hastily lowers her visor. Enter 
CoRONADO leading the Soldiers. Beatrix 
passes among them afid is lost to view. 

CoRONADO. [ 76" Soldiers.] Halt there! First of all 
mortal things my eyes 

And mine alone shall be immortal ! Then 

You too may look. 

\_The Soldiers remain on the side of the slope. 

CoRONADO mounts to the rock on which 

Perth stands near the edge of the bluff and a 

fezv feet higher than the SoLDiERS'/^i'///iC«.] 

\To Perth.] Has any cloud unfolded? 

Perth. 'Tis lighter. 

CoR. Yes, the garment of dead night, 

Hiding the bosom of unknown desire, 

Wavers at last 1 

Perth. And lifts! 

CoR. And there afar 

Towers to meet the dome of beckoning day I 

An Officer. What can you see ? 

Perth. As yet only bright mist 

Dragging its radiant length along the east. 

CoR. Now — 

Perth. Shadows again. 

CoR. But there a tendril lifts 



EL DORADO 97 

Higher and, with a message of white hopes, 

Floats toward the coming sun ! 

Perth. And there a wave 

Spires to that last slow-dying star I 

Cor. And now 

With sleep and all old dreams and visions dead, 

Day takes all heaven's citadels ! 

Perth. Not yet. 

Still that dark robe upon the waiting Eden 

Clings like a shroud. 

Cor. Hope and the fruit of hope 

Are one in this great hour ; joy needs no seizing, 

'Tis ours already and the dream of it 

Is its own end — Ah ! 

A Voice \^from the Soldiers.] What thing now is shown ? 

Perth. The veil seems slowly to withdraw. 

Cor. I see it ! 

A Voice. What ? 

Cor. [71? Perth.] Look — far down 1 

Perth. The mist seems coloured there. 

Cor. It glows ! It is no mist ! Can you not see 

The gem which is the mother of all dawn ? 

Perth. There is some gleam. 

Cor. It waits one moment yet 

Before it thunders upon our blinded sight 1 

\_To Soldiers.] Choose what you will, O you whose 

blood has bought it ! 
Out of all that which waits our famished eyes ! 
Bright, barren sands of gold, which shall be fertile. 
Jewels that welter like great fallen suns 1 
The living heat that smoulders in deep rubies, 



98 EL DORADO 

The endless April of cool emeralds 

And chrysoprase within whose heart the sky 

Kisses the sea ! The sullen mystery 

Of opals holding captive sunsets past ! 

And diamonds fashioned from the frozen souls 

Of lilies once alive ! All — all are yours 1 

\The Soldiers have been 7niirmuring with im- 
patience ever sifice their last entra?ice. Their 
discontent at being held back fiow groivs 
mutinous. 

A Soldier. [^Starting toward Perth and Coronado.] 

I will not wait. 

2D Sold. [^Followi?ig him.'\ Nor I. 

3D Sold. \_Going.'] Here's for a sight I 

[All the Soldiers start, the Officers trying 
to hold them back. 

Cor. [Seeing them.'] Yes, come ! It is not just to 
starve your eyes 

Even while my own are first fed and made strong. 

[The Soldiers reach the ledge and peer down. 
There is a pause. 

1ST Sold. [Wo7ideriftgly.'\ But where ? 

[During the last speeches (t/" Coronado his face 
has beefi averted frotn the valley and turned 
toward the Soldiers. While he was speak- 
hig the final flush of dawn lightened the 
whole scene. It noiv shozvs the valley which 
appears even unusually grey and desolate in 
the early niortiitig light. In the distance 
flows the great miiddy river. Perth, who 



EL DORADO 



99 



has seeti all, has throughout heard nothing, 
but has remained with his eyes on the plain 
below as though stricken to stone, 
2D Sold. What jewels ? 

3D Sold. Is there anything ? 

4TH Sold. I can see nothing. 
5TH Sold. All the mist is gone. 

And I have eyes ; it needs more skill to trick them. 
2D Sold. A trap I 
1ST Sold. A foul deceit 1 

4TH Sold. Once more his lies 

Have bled us. 

3D Sold. O the fool — the hollow fool 

I was to be so lured by such a mouth 1 
Perth. Hold ! Are you so alone in suffering ? 
If you so think, look upon him. \He points to Coronado 

whose eyes are set on the scene of the final destruction 

of his hopes ^ 
2D Sold. \_Moved to so>ne pity at the sight.'] Yes, truly. 
Perth. He, too, has been misled no less than we. 
1ST Sold. Yet, O what words he spoke I 
4TH Sold. With what clouds lured us ! 

Perth. And yet himself as well. 
3D Sold. But, O the blood. 

The thorns and flints upon the way 1 
2D Sold, And hunger I 

Perth. [To an Officer.] Go, lead them back again 

into the camp 
Until we plan for new immediate needs. 
Officer. \^To Soldiers.] About — and march to 

tents. No further words. 

L.ofC.'* 



loo EL DORADO 

\The mutinous threats and dissent are hushed to 
murmurs. Exeunt all save Perth arid 

CORONADO. 

Cor. No further sky than this — \He takes a few 
sudden steps that bri?jg him to the edge of the precipice. 

Perth. \_Reaching and grasping hi?n.'] What would 
you do ? 

Cor. No hour for breath — only to go — to go ! 

Perth. Where ? 

Cor. Where else but beyond the sight of it ? 

Perth. Of what ? 

Cor. The bane called Living ! The foul lie 

With which the curse called time lures me more slowly 

To each hour's death ! 

Perth. \_After a pause?^ I, too, have looked on life. 

Cor. Then we will go together, being at last 

Made wise. 

Perth. \_Steadily.'\ And thus far I have seen few 
things 

Undimmed of tears, yet surely there still waits 

Some hour emptied of grief for each of us. 

Cor. I have already sought it overlong. 

Perth. O yet an instant, see, upon the plain 

Hope whitens again into a shape for us I 

Cor. \_Looking with him.'\ What is it ? 

Perth. From this place it seems a pool 1 

Cor. I have seen many such. 

Perth. But see I The sun 

Rains its pure earliest fire upon the waves, 

As though to make more plain the end we seek I 

Cor. I see — and I have seen — too much. 



EL DORADO loi 

Perth. I dream 

That this bright image of awakening 

May be at last the Water of all Dreams ! 

Cor. Ah, that poor phantom Source I I never sought it. 

I have found the thing called Youth too deadly bitter 

To grasp at further tasting. 

Perth. But men say 

The earth upon its banks is essence of gold 1 

Cor. Men say — 

Perth. If it prove gold will you not live ? 

Cor. Men say — 

Perth. Bide here, I will descend the rock 

And seize and bring back Life with eager hands, 

Life for your own hands and your yearning lips 

And for your eyes. Sands I will bring to you, 

Whose tawny grains outglow the water itself 1 

Stand, and with eyes held fast upon the pool 

Know that with my return all griefs are ended ! 

[He starts to descend at a place where the de- 
clivity is less steep, and is slowly lost to 
view. CoRONADO stands seemingly neither 
hearing tier seeing for a time. Then sud- 
denly seems to waken. 
CoR. Thus far — and then — an end — and this — 

at last 
The ending. Colours I Mist 1 The blank of sky 1 
Nothing beyond — nothing behind the colours I 
The sky thwarts all. There is no need to strive 
Further to look on mist of other shapes. 
Each hour the mocking barrier grows more dense ; 
So to break through — 



I02 EL DORADO 

\_He begins to lift himself to a rock that pro- 
jects over the guf^ 

And baffle it at last. 
So to break through — 

\_Ife is poisijig for the leap when, from behind 
a near rock, Beatrix rushes forward a?id 
drags him a few steps backward. Her face 
is still masked by the steel. '\ 

What thing is this that clutches ? 
One of the race of men ! Why, so am I ! 
Poor race — but being of it you shall follow — 
I lead! 

\_He grasps and tries to draw her with him to 
the edge. She struggles powerfully to hold 
him back.l 
But what ! So strong ! And will not come 1 
Then with all strength and will lying cold, you shall ! 

\_IIe swiftly draws his sword and dashes toward 
her. She avoids his first stroke, but he 
pushes her so fiercely that she is brought to 
the very edge of the precipice. As he is 
about to force her over, she lifts in despera- 
tion the visor. His sword drops from his 
hand. He gazes at her as 07ie in deep sleep. 
He passes his hand across his face as though 
to dispel a vision, then again looks and after 
a pause he speaks.'] 

O Pale I Whiter than ever in the night ! 

Never the moon nor any drifting star 

Brought you so hallowed and white, yet real to me. 



EL DORADO 103 

— Why did no daytime dawn or noon before 

Bring you ? For oh, the day brought many dreams ! 

Beat. Am I so faintly seen as dreams ? 

Cor. You speak ! 

Beat. And have I not been given lips for speech ? 

Or shall they be forever hushed, laid softly 

Upon your own ? 

Cor. Even the braver voice ! 

And not like that which wailed out of the dark 

For comforting 1 

Beat. I have not sought for comfort ; 

Only to aid you. 

Cor. O speak, breathe and tell 

While I may see and hear ! You soon will pass 

And the frail web of you rejoin the air 

And I be left. 

Beat. Yes, I will pass, and briefly. 

Therefore, O Love, shall we not cling, this moment ? 

Strike it like lire from out the dark of time, 

That when time glooms again we may remember ? 

\_IIe starts instinctively toward her, but after a 
few steps he pauses. 
Cor. No, I will no more strive to anything 
And so dispel it. 

Beat. Then, if not yet vanished, 

I, the last phantom, must dissolve myself. 
For we'll endure no wTaiths. If sense of sight 
Nor hearing lifts the veil from off your soul — 
Then may — some touch — 

\_She lifts her helmet from her head and casts 
it upon the ground, letting her hair fall 



I04 EL DORADO 

about her. She goes slowly to him. She 
reaches to him. His eyes yearn to her, but 
he shrinks back zvaiting to see her vanish. 

Cor. May not one thing of all 

Remain ? 

Beat. Yes — \_She kisses hijn. 

Cor. O God, if another hour 

Than this awaits me, let it hold no longer. 
But let the perishing dream draw forth my breath I 
Beat. Am I still no more real than visionings ? 
Ah, will not even your blood awake your soul ? 
Have the snow-textured arms of dreams these pulses ? 
Has the pale spirit of sleep a mouth like this ? 
Cor. You do not fade into cold, futile mist ? 
Beat. Ah no, and yet what better time to pass 
Than standing so ; unknown, ungreeted, feared 
By those same eyes to which my own have lifted 
Through circling months of shifting frost and fire ; 
So weary long ; so many desolate leagues ? 

\^IIe touches her face. 

Cor. O — I believe — witness, dear God — my faith 

That this, of truth, — is she — in very flesh ! 

And for my mighty faith take her not from me. 

Beat. Francis — 

Cor. O deathless Bice ! Here in Eden, 

As once the dark song-mouth of lighted gloom 

Greeted you, so even 1 1 

Beat. Yet even now 

You would have fled from Eden, seeing none. 

Cor. For you were not within it. 



EL DORADO 105 

Beat. Yes, of truth, 

I was not in these arms, for they are Eden. 

Cor. Within your breast, the Land of Sorrow's End, 

Is all my Paradise. 

Beat. Beyond the sky 

You would have hurled yourself had I not clasped you. 

Cor. Your eyes are now my sky and all beyond them 

Are the great deeps of you : so if I pass 

These lucent boundaries I seek no more 

Than you — than you. 

Beat. And now, shall I die swiftly, 

Or with joy lingering ? 

Cor. O Sweet ! 

Beat. Your vow 

To slay me if I followed 1 

Cor. Look no more 

After us but before. There is 'no death 

For us in anything — in any world. 

Beat. Yet part of me is dead : my griefs. This hour 

Is the dear shroud in which they have been laid ; 

To all my sighs your lips give burial ; 

Your eyes are the last grave of all my tears. 

Cor. O breathe no more of things now dead, but cling 

And let the music of the touch of you 

Enfold me with all singing, living things. 

Beat. I am stirred to call unto the whole glad earth : 

" Behold, this hour your gladness taken from you ! " 

For it is ours I Shall we not always be 

Here in the world of morning and bright dew ? 

Cor. We have known no hour but this, nor ever shall. 

Beat. Forever to stand thus with dawn-blown hair ! 



io6 EL DORADO 

Cor, And count the years by new caresses learned 1 
Beat. Always to conquer Time with one last kiss ! 
Cor. a dimness seems to close upon your face ! 
Beat. The way was long — so long — I have wandered 

far. 
Cor. O Heavy Eyes, forgive Love's heedless heart ; 
Unthinking Love that knows no weariness ; 
Wild Love, barren of tender services ! 
How shall I make you rest upon these rocks ? 
Beat. Take no more care for anything save Love. 

\_She turns to the direction from which she en- 
tered^ 
[ Calling.~\ Felisa ! Juana 1 

Enter her two Indian Women. 

Even upon these stones 
The bending sisterhood of women flowers. 
They guard me carefully. 

Cor. Rest then, Tired Heart, 

Below, veiling your face again awhile 
Until the women shield you from all men's eyes. 

\^He helps her to don the head-piece. 
Beat. You come ? 

I follow soon with Life — to Life ! 

\Exeunt Beatrix and Women. Coronado 
turns his eyes to the east. 
Cor. O sky that has been tender unto her 
Let me be nearer to your softnesses 1 

\He runs to the rock from which he was 
formerly about to spring. As he stands 



EL DORADO 



107 



triumphantly upon it Perth appears above 
the edge climbing slowly with his eyes fixed 
agonizedly upon Coronado. As he comes, 
he speaks. 

Perth. Yet you have youth and morning and bright 
air 

Which are the foods of Hope ; all these are yours I 

Will you not stay for them ? 

Cor. \Dreainily stretching out his hand to the east."] 

Broad, gentle sky ! 

Perth. An instant still, stand fast ! I have one word. 

At last — a name to breathe into your soul! 

Cor. [^Turning and seeing him for the first time.'\ 

Why are your eyes so blanched, your words so breath- 
less? 

Perth. Draw back one pace, one moment till I speak ! 

Cor. Ah, I remember now. You went to seek — 

And found ? \_IIe reads Perth's eyes^ Nothing. And 
I — it came to me 1 

Perth. What came ? 

Cor. The sky! The sun! The mighty morning! 

All things that I possessed before yet knew not. 

Perth. And you will live ? 

Cor. Is there another thing 

Than life ? 

Perth. What new-fledged day is this within you 

That makes your every breath rise with mad wings ? 

Have you found gold ? 

Cor. Yes, gold more dear 

Than the good earth or the sky's gilded blue. 

Or sea-caves carven of peace have ever yielded 1 



io8 EL DORADO 

Perth. Where ? 

Cor. It is stored here, \^He points to his 

breast^ 

Here, beyond all sight 
Save mine ! 

Perth. And so at last you know — 

Cor. Know? What? 

Perth. The gold that thrills within your veins, the 

treasure 
Unstolen by the furtive creeping years. 
Cor. That youth of which you dream ? Yes, I possess 

it. 
Perth. But I did not find it there upon the plain, 
Neither the golden earth. 
Cor. Then turn with me 

From dreams and fix your wakened eyes on day I 

\The murmur of angry voices has been heard 
and grows louder and louder. E liter run- 
ning, the Soldiers, mutinous, the Officers 
in front of them trying to hold them back. 
An Officer. \_To Coronado.] The men, being mad 

with desperate bafflement — 
I cannot hold them back — beg that you turn 
And pierce no more into the unknown east. 
But only home. 

Cor. And all their prayers are granted. 

No more the dawns, but only sunset colours 
Shall light our faces ; yet, O, in our hearts 
We bring back morning. On this day we start I 
This hour ! At once I [To Perth.] Good soldier, 

you will go 



EL DORADO 



109 



Forward as a messenger to find a path. 
At Tiquex, join Ubeda and then — on ! 
Take ten men with you. Ho, for ten to go I 

[7>;/ Soldiers step fonvard?^ 

You have them. 

Perth. But to-day — 

Cor. Stay not one hour! 

Perth. Until the night — 

An Officer. If he will not, then I. 

Cor. \To Perth.] Will you now fail, who have been 
so long to me 

My only trusted heart and strength ? 

Perth. I go. 

Cor. Good ! Let the following quarter of this hour 

Look on some path already hewn for us 

By that good sword worn by my braver part. 

My friend. Farewell. Why do your eyes turn back- 
ward ? 

Perth. Only to look again — 

Cor. On what ? 

Perth. The Dawn. 

Curtain 



ACT V 



Scene i . — Three months later. The summit of TAaai- 
yalana, or Thunder Mountai?i, three mites southeast 
from ZuFii, in northern New Mexico. It is a great 
mesa of rock rising in sheer waits a thousand feet above 
the desert. It is only accessible on the northeaster?! 
side, where there is a Jiarrow and tortuous trail. 

Up stage the vierv is partly thwarted by the wall of 
aft old ruin, built of unhewn stones. Past it, in the 
backgrou7id, ?wt far dista?it, is see?i the brink of the 
precipice, and beyond that a hundred miles of the plain. 
Over all is the yellow molten light of the sun that has 
laid it waste. — In front of the wall and sitting against 
it is a Soldier. His head hangs weakly forward 
and he clutches an empty water-bottle to his breast. 
Enter another Soldier ivho appears to be in the same 
enfeebled condition. He totters across the stage fnutter- 
ing to himself and fnally espies the other. He glares 
for an instant at him, then hurls himself upon him and 
wrests the bottle away. He puts it to his mouth and 
turns it tipside down, sqtieezing and pressing it, the 
other, meanwhile, making feeble efforts to rise. 

Soldier. [Finally taking the bottle from his mouth?\ 

Dry! 
2D Sold. [ Weakly reaching for it.^ Give it back. 

113 



114 EL DORADO 

1ST Sold. All gone! Do you hear? There's nothing left. 

2D Sold. \Still more feebly^ Give it back. 

[ The first Soldier gives it to him slowly^ in- 
tently watching him meanwhile, to see if 
the other has means of extracting aJiything 
from it, but he only clasps it again eagerly 
to his breast. 

1ST Sold. \Snddenly half turning and putting his hand 
to his head.'] O the sun ! O Christ ! They've pulled 
off the eyelid of the sun and it can't close its eye 1 
It stares and stares, dripping blood, and it bores deep 
down into my head 1 The cinders fall into my mouth 
and choke me ! \^JIe falls on his knees beside the 
other^ What do you think the sun's made of ? \^ffe 
waits, but the other seems not to hear.] Fire ? \The 
other does not raise his head.] [Altisijigly.] No, not 
fire, for whenever it set in the sea, 'twould make it 
boil up over the land and then everything could 
drink. Drink 1 Do you hear ? We could drink ! We, 
here in hell, a thousand leagues away from the sea ! 
The cold green would come to us softly, softly lap- 
ping, lapping, — till it comes so near it can't get 
away again and then we will churn into its soft, smooth 
breast, like a stab wound, for not coming sooner to 
us, and then we will sink down and down and it will 
struggle and try to fade, as it did this morning, in 
the air, but it can't throttle us ! It can't throttle us ! 
Not till we've sucked it dry and got it in our blood 
and then we'll let go and then the blood will float, 
float far down and away with the other waves, but 
cooled, cooled, cooled. — See there ! — Now 'tis gone 



EL DORADO 115 

— look away — the sea's gone ! All gone ! Only a 
few fish left stranded on a rock up near the sun. 
Poor fish, poor fish ! 

2D Sold, \_Sfirruig, as in dream. '\ The sea ! 

1ST Sold, The sea is brine, we could never drink salt 
water, 'T has blood in't. 

2D Sold, Water 1 

1ST Sold. I've had good drinks in my time. Long, 
cool pulls at many and many a flask. I've seen 
whole skies of milk ; but too high, too high I No way 
to reach them but to climb rocks, always getting a 
little nearer the sun, and then it sets and the west 
looks like blood, but no, it's wine, red wine, with snow 
in't to drink I Aye, that's the word : drink and drink 
and suck up. 

2D Sold. [/// delirium?^ Little Blandina — 

1ST Sold. O the sun ! It's falling ! It gets nearer and 
nearer ! We climbed to it and now it's coming to 
meet us. The sun can't abide any wings save his 
own. He scorches all who fly at him. \His eyes 
again fall on the bottle which the other holds. He 
agaiji takes it. The prostrate figure makes no fia-ther 
resistance.^ Yet this bottle had water in't once. 
Change, change, all things must come to it. Once 
it was wet, now it is dry, — dry as my tongue — my 
tongue is part of the leathern bottle. \He rubs it 
against his mouth, theti suddenly starts to his feet, 
wildly 7\ Ha, I know now ! The bottle is damned 1 
It held blood ! The Fiend made it out of the tongues 
of men turned to leather for want of water. \^He 
dashes it from hitn.~\ 



ii6 EL DORADO 

2D Sold, Water — 

Enter from behind the wall Perth and Ubeda. Both 
are haggard and emaciated, but Perth in a much 
greater degree than the Friar. The Soldiers stagger 
mechanically and weakly to their feet and salute, lean- 
ing against the ivall. Ubeda motions them to depart. 
Exeunt Soldiers. — Perth totters in his walk and 
leans heavily upon Ubeda, whose arm steadies him. 
Perth. And on its banks grow flowers of all past 

Springs ; 
The fadeless presences of blossoms dead, 
And among these I'll kneel, being, like them, 
A memory. They, with soft-petaled breath, 
Will keep me company until I drink, — 
Until I drink — and then — what then ? Ah yes, 
Youth will return. And she — her face will seem 
To lean with mine from out the water's depths — 
Close, touching mine, cooled by her hair, so mirrored 
From out the burnished surface of the pool. 
And then — then I will turn, being young, and she 
Who has shown me all things else desirable 
In waking worlds or dreams, will show me — peace. 
Ubeda. O God, let him not wake ! 
Perth. And day by day 

Peace and her shadowing hair, and night by night 
Rest and her eyes to illumine all the shadows. 
Enter a Soldier folloived by an Indian Runner, who 
leans exhausted against the wall. The Soldier steps 
forward at attention. 
Ubeda. \To Soldier.] Tell on. 
Soldier. Those who were sent to bring up water — 



EL DORADO 117 

Ubeda. They put to death ? 

Sold. No, but witli arrows and stones 

' They broke the pots and sent the bearers to us 
With empty hands and swollen tongues like ours. 
Perth. What news was told us then ? 
Ubeda. The siege still holds. 

Perth. What day is this ? 

Ubeda. The fifth without water, 

The thirtieth since we paused to wait Don Francis. 
Perth. Then we will journey southward once again. 
No doubt some other path has led them home. 
They will not find us here, there is no need 
To linger. We will go. 
Ubeda. Yes, we will go, 

And soon, but in no flesh of mortal texture. 
Perth. \_StiddenIy lifting his head and gazing into 
Ubeda 's face with the momentary divination of fear. '\ 
Ha, you have fear ! Of what — in all the world ? 
Has't form, or is it bodiless? — what thing 
In all this world is left for us to fear ? 
Ubeda. It has the form of wild, blood-coloured men 
Gathered from every corner of the desert 
About the steep foundations of this rock 
To wait the end. 

Perth. Then, now is the beginning. 

\_To Soldier.] Summon the men. 

[Exit Soldier. 

Ubeda. What would you do ? 

Perth. At last 

We turn upon the course that leads our feet 
Where all our lives, our lips alone have wandered. 



ii8 EL DORADO 

Ubeda. You will descend ? 

Perth. Yes, while there is a tongue 

To say " I will." 

Ubeda. Then 'twill not be for long ; 

Our feebled blood will hardly stain the sand 

Before the hearts that give it cease from leaping, 

If we give battle now 1 

Perth. \Looking at him with great and questioning 

wonder^ Yet you are brave. 

How can it be you plead so timorously ? 
You, whose breast is hearted like a lion. 
To play this rosary and cassock part I 
Are there not winds enough up here in heaven 
To blow the smoke of altars from your eyes ? 

\The Soldiers, nijie of them, file in slowly and 
weakly take their stand waveringly at atteji- 
tiofi.l 

Here, look on men and know yourself for one. 

Men 1 We are more I Ha, rather are we gods 1 

No mortal could endure this infinite height ! 

Our feet alone touch earth, our heads are shrouded 

Here in this firmament of upper fire 

Beyond men's sight ! What aspirant sun is this 

Crept in our sky as though 'twould mount to us ? 

Let us brook never an orb but our own eyes 1 

Is there a soul here fears thus to become 

A shatterer of this blind, sneering roof 

That bent so long above us ? Stand more bravely, 

And let not this one moan and that one sink I 

Will not the strength that raised us here avail 



EL DORADO iig 

Against the poor dust-motes that haunt the base 
Of this long-kindled pyre ? 

[A slight noise mid commotion back of the line 
of Soldiers is hea?-d, and a native Zuni 
Runner enters and staggers and falls 
breathless among them, holding 2ip a letter. 

An Officer. \Following the^xsj^'in^^^ A messenger. 

Perth. From whom ? 

Off. The native runners to the Viceroy. 

Perth. Break the seal and read. 

Off. [^Opening the letter and reading^ 

— The Viceroy, having learned — 

That all the promises have come to naught, — 

That all the dreams of Eden fade to ashes — 

That all the rumours of gold have turned to clay, — 

That all the end of hoping is disaster, — 

That all those lies and all the prayers which caused — 

The outlay that impoverished Mexico, — 

Have wrought not one return, — gives these commands: 

— The leader, Coronado, shall return — 
Stript of his honour till he can account — 
Unto his sovereign for his great failure. — 
The other officers and common rank — 
Will also come. — 

A Soldier. Huzza ! 

Off. [Contimiifig to read.'] But in disgrace. 

Sold. Ah ! 

2D Sold. What is that? 

3D Sold. Disgrace ? 

4TH Sold. Some penalty. 



I20 EL DORADO 

2D Sold. And does it scorch men? 

1ST Sold. No. 

4TH Sold. Nor dry their mouths ? 

3D Sold. No. 

2D Sold. Then who cares, so we go back again ? 

Off. Hold, there is more ! [Reading^ 

— All men once prisoners — 
Held by the Crown shall, on receipt of this — 
Take warning never to return to us. — 
Let them remain where this command shall find them. 
[Perth reels and smks to a sitting posture on a 
stone behind Jmn. The Priest bends over 
him. 
1ST Sold. Well, as for that, those who must heed it, 

may; 
For never a cage held me but dinted armour. 
The Other Sold. Nor me ! Nor me I 
Perth. \_Rising slowly with Ubeda's assistaJice!\ 

Is there no man among 3^ou 
Who has been imprisoned ? 

\_I£e waits. The Soldiers look guestio7iingly, 
each mutely denying captivity^ 

None ? Then you will go. 
Let each man say farewell to me, and then — 

[Ubeda sees that he is on the point of letting 
the Soldiers knoiu of his incarceration and 
i?iterrupts. 
Ubeda. O peace 1 Why should the silence now be 

broken ? 
1ST Sold. \_Half comprehending Perth's meanhig^ 
What ! He would stay ? 



EL DORADO 121 

2D Sold. And why? 

Ubeda. He will not stay. 

See, they are true to you ; their rugged spirits 

Are knit to you with never-wavering faith. 

A Sold. Where w^ould w^e go without his heart and 

sword ? 
2D Sold, Not far alive, that's certain. 
3D Sold. No, nor dead. 

Perth. You still would follow me ? 
All. Who else .? Who else ? 

Perth. Then while life bides with us you shall be led 
And led to gaze on very Life itself 1 
Gaze on it ? Yes, and drink it until Eden 
Is echoed to your eyes from each cup's depth ! 
You choose well who thus choose to be immortal. 
The calm has lifted. Gird yourselves at once 
With outward and inner steel. We start this hour 
To intercept Don Coronado's legion. 
Off. Where ? 

Perth. South of that same path that led us here 

Ere they return. 
A Sold. [^Ominously sulIenT^ That's only south of 

east? 
Perth. Yes. 
2D Sold, \0penly rebelUous7\ We have done with 

east. 
3D Sold. No east for me. 

4TH Sold. We did not fight our way thus far toward 

home 
To be coaxed back again to watch the sunrise. 
Off. Forgive them. 



122 EL DORADO 

All. Anywhere but back again I 

Perth. Forgive ! I cherish in my heart no blame 

Toward you. Neither blame nor faint surprise. 

All are brave men, but merely blind or deaf 

To what a prize awaits. I — I alone 

Know, and so alone I must go and win it. 

Farewell. 

Off. Must it be so ? 

Ubeda. [^To Officer.] Let all withdraw. 

\_Exetint Soldiers. 
Perth. And between you and me, then, 'tis farewell. 
Ubeda. What would you do ? 

Perth. Clutch at the one last hope, 

The hope to reach her ere the march has passed 
Across the boundaries that would bar my soul 
From — what ? Either heaven or hell. And, O I shall — 
I shall reach to her from the depth of doom, 
Stretch out my hands toward the one dim spark 
Of yielding in her eyes until it warms 
Into a sun that shall go choiring, choiring 
Through all her being's utmost deeps, the hymn 
That rapts all space with morning 1 Well I know 
That on both sides of this new path to her, 
Death stands, lynx-eyed for any wavering steps, 
But 'tis a futile watching ; in the end, 
I, whom she waits, shall find her once again. 
Ubeda. And then ? 

Perth. Ah, then ! When that great dawn of her 
Shall wash against my vision with the tide 
Of its full joy ~ 
Ubeda. Then ? 



EL DORADO 123 

Perth. 'Tis enough ; what more ? 

What mightier hour could Time withhold from me ? 

Ubeda. But afterward ? 

Perth. Ah, she will go with me 

Home 1 

Ubeda. And what home ? 

Perth. Is this not solid earth ? 

Will not this land bear two upon its breast, 

Though they are charged with earth's whole weight of 

joy? 
Here shall we bide, for 'twill be home for us! 
Far in the East a land of cooler lights 
Dreams between Spring and Spring beneath no touch 
Save rain and leaves or snow and falling flowers, 
Yet it is this same land ; lo, half the world 
Has lain here till this hour, stainless, asleep, 
And up from the old, blood-choked, semi-orb 
That mothered us, shall come the wandering tread 
Of those who seek for home, — here they shall find it ! 
All the old grief that utters yet no sound 
Through all the hours of all the throne-galled night, 
Shall here find clarion ; the sound of tears 
Falling, and innocent blood far bitterer 
Shall here be quenched ; here shall no sound nor sight 
Be born of all those phantoms in that dream ; 
Monarchs in rotten purple, leprous crowns. 
Wounds without cause and unjust bonds and prison ! 
Aye, those ! The hopeless gnawing steel and stone, 
More heavy than a myriad bodily deaths ! 
Here they shall die and pass from earth and fade. 
This is the garden we shall walk within. 



124 EL DORADO 

She, whose cahii eyes would have been brave enough 
To live through all the deserts of the world, 
Will here have flowers, and I will have no less 
The perfect bloom — 

\_Faint cries and shouting are heardl\ 
What sudden sound of joy 
Floats to my ears ? Has earth been listening 
To hear of happiness ? 

\_More voices raised in faint cheers are heard, 
together with the sound of armed men rim- 
ning. Enter, running weakly, a Soldier. 
He is too exhausted and excited to speak at 
first. 
Ubeda. \_To the Soldier.] What news have you? 
Sold. [JDeliriously Joyous.'] O Blessed James ! Patron 

of Thirsty Lips, 
My vows shall be fulfilled 1 

Ubeda. Peace I Peace ! The news ? 

\_Enter another ?>oi.v>\'E.^ followed by several, all 
running unsteadily. 
2D Sold. Huzza ! 

3D Sold. \_A boy.] Home ! Home ! 
Ubeda. [^Making nothing of their words ^ Speak ! 
4TH Sold. \Sudde71ly raising his ha?id.'\ Listen I 
There speaks Life ! 

[All listen while from the distance comes the 
faint sound of trumpets. 
5TH Sold. \_Who has Just staggered ifi.] And I have 

seen it from the eastern edge 1 
Ubeda. Don Francis ! 
Perth. She ! 



EL DORADO 125 

5TH Sold. They now ascend the slope I 

All of the troops, Don Francis leading them I 
Perth. [ Tottering toward the wail.'\ I go to meet her. 
[He goes a few paces and begins to sink. The 
Priest reaches him and supports him. 
Ubeda. Wait ! She comes to you ! 

[7^ Soldiers.] Go, gird, and let us welcome them, all 
standing. 

[Exeunt Soldiers. 

Perth. [ With a great sweetness dawning in his face ?^ 

And so this is the hour on which it falls ; 

This hour on and no other 1 Strange ! The sky 

Bends its vast azure bell above me yet, 

Silently, as before ! But O, it waits ! 

It waits the infinite moment that is pending, 

When, with her eyes half-veiled with dreams fulfilled, 

But with their light laid on the eyes of me. 

And with her mouth a little tremulous 

From all the troubled violets in her veins, — 

And with her hair, and with her lips and brow 

All radiant with the mystery of her — 

— She shall appear ! Then 1 Then ! A little while, 

The hundredth of a moment shall we pause — 

To look — each standing dumb and motionless 

Until, from out her tender holy deeps 

Shall rise that aureate starlight in her eyes. 

For which I seek — at last, not vainly. Then ! — 

The same mute, brazen heaven shall reel and sway, 

Sound and give forth a note of such mad joy, 

That all the yearning choirs throughout the abyss 

Shall dream upon their shadowy battlements, 



126 EL DORADO 

Voiceless among their unstirred instruments, 
Listening — 

\The loud blast of a trumpet is heard just be- 
yond the wall. Enter Perth's Soldiers 
in full armour. Theyform.~\ 
Ah ! [Ife grows strajigely apprehensive?[ What ? 
Ubeda. \^Soothingly 7)^ 'Tis the general herald. 

\The clamour and tramp of many people march- 
ing is heard and grows steadily nearer. 
The trumpets continue to sound. Filially 
efiter a Herald, still trumpeting. He ad- 
vances formally u?itil he is in the center of the 
stage. Several Vv.i'E'S'V'S follow him closely, 
blessing Perth's Soldiers. One of them 
bears in his hands a large zvhite cross. Be- 
side him is a Standard-Bearer carry iftg a 
banner wrought with the arms of Spain. 
The Herald. \Fr0clai7ning.'] Way for the Cross by 

which we take this rock ! 
Way for the pennant of His Majesty, 
Defender of all realms the Cross protects ! 
Way for the agent of the Church and State, 
The noble and most Catholic General, 
The Governor, Don Francis Coronado ! 

\_The Priest elevates the Cross three times. 
There is an impressive hush and then the 
Herald speaks again.'\ 
Also his Dame, the Doha Beatrix ! — 

[Perth has not seemed to hear the Herald at 
first, but at the elevation of the Cross, seem- 
ingly moved by some presentiment, he leans 



EL DORADO 127 

to catch the further words of the Herald. 

When the last sentence has been pronounced 

he does not at first move, hut slowly and 

gradually his head falls forward. 
A Priest. \To Ubeda.] Pax Domini sit semper vobis- 

cum. 
Ubeda. And with you, too. \_He tur?is to Perth.] 

Would it might be with all ! 
\_The members of the expedition continue to 

enter. Suddenly a young Priest, full of 

zeal, begins a chant. 
The Young Priest. O Fons Amoris, Spiritu — 

[Ubeda hastily touches him and points to 

Perth. The rapt expression on the singer's 

face changes to one of pity. '\ 

Forgive ! 
[Perth stands fixed and dumb while others 

enter. Finally Coronado himself appears. 

He is evidently fatigued but clearer-eyed 

and more cheerful tha?i before. He tvalks 

rapidly to Perth extending his hands with 

great cordiality. 
Cor. O faithful soldier, greeting ! All is well I 
The blood that threatened you now crusts the desert 1 
The food you fainted for we bring to you ! 
Or was it water ? We have water, drink 1 
Drink and be filled, for you have suffered sorely. 
Your pain is ended now, and all the wounds 
You took upon the way Honour will heal, 
And memory will soothe, for you were brave. 
You will pass down the path of age in quiet. 



128 EL DORADO 

For me, I also am content. The gold 
We thought upon proved no more real than thoughts, 
Yet all the treasure of earth or dreams was there, 
And there I found it ! And to you who brought her 
Unscathed through all the ravening fire of perils 
To me — for she herself has whispered all — 
For your reward and thanks you shall behold. 
As lawful wife, the maid you did protect. 

\_Anoiher trumpet is sounded beyond the wall, 
and the Soldiers having fortned in ranks, 
look expectantly toward the sound. There 
is a stir and the further noise of people ap- 
proaching. Enter Beatrix. She is once 
more attired in feminine garb and is at- 
tended by two native Women. As she enters 
her glance lights and is fixed upon Perth. 
As he looks upon her he sways as though to 
fall. With the more observing sympathy of 
her sex she notices what has entirely escaped 

CORONADO. 

Beat. [ With impulsive pity I] Ah, do you not see ? He 

is faint I Bring water ! 
Wine and some subtle essence to revive him ! 
His face is that of one long famishing 1 
Perth. Water and wine I have — 
Cor. \_To the V^om^^.'] Hasten! He sleeps I 

\_Exeunt Women. 
Perth. Bid no dream hasten — all pass — in the end, 
Swiftly — 

Cor. Some deadly thing has stricken him I 

Ubeda, It is but hunger and thirst. Last night I found 



EL DORADO 



1 29 



That of each day's allotment of the water, 

He, daily, has withheld his own poor share 

From his own lips — saving to moisten them. 

Giving it all — his life — unto the soldiers, 

And unto me, unknowing whence it came. 

Beat. O Tender and True I The deed was like his 

soul. 
£n fer ^er WoM^N with filled flagons a?id ctips.'\ 
\_To thetn.'\ Give me the cup. \_To Perth.] Here's 

wine and more than wine ; 
Love 1 For with returning life comes Love, 
And both we bring you with full, grateful hands I 

[Perth's eyes are uJ>on her face, but he makes 
no effort to accept the cup. 
Cor. He pales as though he bled from inward wounds. 
Perth. \_To Beatrix.] I cannot drink — more — 

for at last — the cup 
Is drained. 

Beat. No, here is life and cooling strength 1 

Cor. \Comi7ig closer to him.'\ Some crushing shadow 

rests upon your brow, 
Some enemy has wrought some wrong upon you ; 
Disclose his name that we may aid with vengeance. 
Perth. I know no enemy but Destiny. 
Beat. Grant only now to touch your lips with this. 

\_She again extends the cup. Perth does not 
see it, bid he is looking at both Coronado 
and Beatrix as they now stand together be- 
fore him. A great light seems to break 
over his eyes. When he speaks his voice 
has taken a new quietness. 



130 EL DORADO 

Perth. At last — I see I Always I seemed to know 

That one day, — though I know not when — some hour, 

I should behold and know it and possess it — 

The Font ! 

Cor. No, it is snow and wine ! 

Beat. He wanders ! 

Perth. I had not thought to find it so at last, 

Yet here, and here alone, it has arisen 

Within these two — my only youth ! Yes — now ! — 

Upon this hour and place at last ! The Source ! 

[^He looks slowly about him.'] 
It is a barren place — yet flowers are here, 
Those which for certain days I seemed to lose ; 
A desolate, tender fatherhood has here 
Found growth and bears, but all too piteously, 
A futile bud. And here is that white bloom 
Which is the mighty soul of him who loved me. 

\^Ife turns to the Friar.] 
Ubeda, — Friend ! O Best and Faitlifullest ! 
Even you grow dim, recede. The folding dusk 
Hides one by one the blossoms — but their scents 
Remain — 

Cor. He must be wakened ! Force the wine 

Between his lips ! 

Ubeda. He is beyond all force. 

Perth. There have been flowers — I had thought to 

love a few 
Out of the dream, but now are all dreams dead. 
Poor ghosts. Yet once they seemed most real to me, 
Memories only now ; the eyes that saw them 
Briefly between two shadows, now no more 



EL DORADO 131 

See. Nor will ever see the Garden's colours. 

... A mist . . a rift within the mist . . and then . 

The mist again and odours far away. 

. . The Sea 1 O wild, wide beach I Am I alone ? 

The tide grows full and climbs now toward my lips ; 

I will wait here. The ponderous ancient breast 

Heaves heavily its interminable sigh ; 

Soon it will ebb and leave upon the sands 

No shadow of the shell that printed them. 

Nor in the thunder of sob or storm or calm, 

Or any separate wave's soliloquy, 

Will there be memory of what returned ; 

So with all broken shells . . 

Beat. One stands without 

The wall that sense has set about your soul ; 

Begging to comfort you, O may not I 

By touch of hand or token of lips or wine, 

Win you again to us ? He does not hear me I 

Perth. . . Music . . yet broken . . but 'tis evening 

now. 
And the day's music is not like the night's . . 
Always I listened longingly, in vain, 
To hear some voice from either dark or light. 
. . Ever before the dial of my hours 
Stood Silence with a bitten tongue, forbidding, 
And now . . shall I not peer behind the face 
Of very Time itself . . spite of all waves ? 
The sea has much to tell . . some ear must hear . . 
Perhaps . . 'tis mine . . but first . . a little sleep . . 
. . Perchance . . a little rest . . perchance — chance 

\_Dies, 



132 EL DORADO 

Beat. Help him ! He sinks I Lift him 1 

Ubeda. He is now dead. 

Cor. O Heavy Fate ! To die just when sweet Life 

Beckoned again to him. 

Beat. He bore much grief. 

Curtain 



EPILOGUE 

Enter Shadow 

Shadow. Far beyond thought, One broods upon all 

this, 
Watching the face of many and many a world 
Whose yearning clay from time to time He dews 
With souls of men from out His infinite will. 
And some of all these souls are like the sea, 
With patient tides that ever keep their season, 
And with their depths fixed in unfailing peace. 
But these are few ; and some are quiet streams 
Winding through placid meadows. Some are pools, 
Receiving all and giving naught again, 
Saving the pictured changes of the sky . . . 
. . . But others are dashed down on horrid flint 
That rends them from all life through all their course ; 
Or if, perchance, at last they win the level, 
The unyielding sand swallows their work and them. 
. . . He, He who dreams or watches all below, 
Waits all, withholding either blow or kiss. 
A while he suffers them to pulse or flow, 
Then reabsorbs them in those clouds of His. 

Explicit 



The House of a Hundred 
Lights 

By RIDGELT TORRENCE 



RICHARD HENRY STODDARD, in " The Mail and 
Express" 

" It is a rememberable piece of poetic work. . . . There 
is vigour in it and a sympathetic insight. . . . Readers will 
be impressed by their freshness, their singularity, and their 
sincerity." 

THE MIRROR, St. Louis 

" Mr. Torrence's couplets or quatrains, for they may be 
read, broadly, as either, are touched with a humour that 
was unknown to either Omar or Burton ... a noteworthy 
performance . . . good poetry . . . the philosophy of common 
sense. . . . His one hundred verses give pleasure, suggest 
reflection, pique the intellect into searching for the defects 
in his half-truths. . . . These verses of Mr. Torrence are 
going to be exceedingly popular. They are of the best 
thought and rhyme-stuff this country has produced in the 
last decade." 

THE COMMERCIAL ADVERTISER, New York 

" He is revealed as a young poet of originality and more 
than ordinary power. Together with these qualities he 
possesses strong imaginative and meditative moods joined 
to a saving sense of humour that has frequently pointed out 
an artist's way to greatness." 

THE TRIBUNE, New York 

" Mr. Torrence aims at a fearless expression of the truth ; 
he writes with a certain spirit of youth and courage, with a 
certain grace of form, and hence ' The House of a Hundred 
Lights' contains some interesting, beguiling verses. His 
work reflects a kind of common sense, i^ractically coloured 
by imagination." 



HEROD 

A TRAGEDY IN THREE ACTS 
By STEPHEN PHILLIPS 

TWENTY-FIRST THOUSAND. i2mo. 
4S. 6d. net. GREEN CLOTH. $1.25 net 

" Herod " was produced at Her Majesty's Theatre, 
London, October 31, 1900, by Mr. Beerbohm Tree. 
Following are some comments by the London Press : 

THE TIMES 

" That Mr. Phillips has the poet's imagination all who have read 
' Paolo and Francesca ' must be well aware. Has he the imagination 
of the dramatist ? That was the first question raised by his ' 1-lerod,' 
and the performance of this tragedy last night leaves no doubt about 
the answer. Mr. Phillips has not only the technic, the ' fingering,' 
but also the bold, visualizing imagination of the dramatist. 

" Here, then, is a noble work of dramatic imagination, dealing greatly 
■with great passion ; multicolored and exquisitely musical. Though it 
is ' literature ' throughout, it is never the literature of the closet, but 
always the literature of the theatre, with the rapid action, the marked 
contrasts, the fierce beating passion, the broad effects proper to the 
theatre. In other words, Mr. Stephen Phillips is not only a poet, and 
a rare poet, but that still rarer thing, a dramatic poet." 

THE MORNING LEADER 
"Splendidly opulent in conception; perfect in construction; far 
beyond all contemporary English effort in the aptitude of its verse to 
the subject and to the stage." 

THE DAILY NEWS 
"The drama possesses the sovereign quality of movement, and it 
is even prodigal in the matter of dramatic situations. To this we have 
to add that its dialogue speaks the language of passion, and is rarely 
encumbered by mere descriptive or reflective passages." 

THE OUTLOOK 

" Mr. Phillips has done a blank-verse play which is not only poetry 
of the purest water, but dramatic poetry. In ' Herod ' he has given 
us a poem of rare beauty and distinction, rich in music and color, and 
in striking thought and image. If he should never write another line, 
his ' Herod ' will remain a pillar of dramatic imagination on which its 
author and the manager who produced it, and the public who applauded 
it, may each and all look back with pride." 

THE SPECTATOR 

" The purely dramatic quality of the play is surprisingly high. 
There remains the literary quality of the verse, and here, too, we can 
speak with few reservations. Mr. Phillips' blank verse is flexible, 
melodious, and majestic." 



Paolo and Francesca 

A TRAGEDY IN FOUR ACTS 
By STEPHEN PHILLIPS 

TVith Frontispiece after the Painting by G. F. IFatts, R. A. 

Twenty-eighth Thousand lamo PRICE, $1.25 net 

" Nothing finer has come to us from an English pen in the 
way of a poetic and literary play than this smce the appearance 
of Taylor's ' Philip Van Artevelde.'" — New York Times. 

"A beautiful piece of literature, disclosing the finest imagi- 
nation, the most delicate instinct, and the most sincere art. It 
is too early to say that it is great, but it is not too soon to 
affirm that nothing so promising has come from the hand of an 
English or American poet of late years." — Outlook. 

" The play is a powerful one, and Mr. Phillips maintains in 
it his w^onderful pitch of style, which was so striking in his 
earlier poems." — Independent. 

" It is not too much to say that ' Paolo and Francesca ' is 
the most important example of English dramatic poetry that 
has appeared since Browning died. ... In Stephen 
Phillips we have a man who will prove that the finest achieve- 
ments of English poetry are a continuing possession, and not 
solely a noble inheritance." — Brooklyn Daily Eagle, 

"' Paolo and Francesca ' has beauty, passion, and power. 
The poem deserves a wide reading on account of its 
intrinsic merit and interest." — Philadelphia Press. 

" The reader may turn to ' Paolo and Francesca' with the 
assurance of passing an hour of the highest possible pleasure. 
. One of the most exalted histories of human pas- 
sion and human frailty has received a fitting frame of verse. 
. . It is certain that his first act only would suffice in 
his facility of language, vigor of thought, intensity of emotion 
conception of dramatic possibilities, and all that goes to make 
the drama great, to give the author a settled place among the 
best of the younger men." — Chicago Evening Post. 



MARPESSA 

By STEPHEN PHILLIPS 

Illustrated by PHILIP CONNARD 

In the " Flowers of Parnassus " Series. Sq. i6mo (5^ x 4 J) 

FIFTEENTH THOUSAND 

IS. net. Art Green Cloth. 50 cents net 

IS. 6d. net. Green Leather. 75 cents net 

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS 

The opinion of Mr. William Dean Howells : "Spiritual in a fine way 
Mr. Phillips's work is, running into frank realism where a modern theme is 
dealt with, and keeping a high idealism where the question is of fable or of 
faith. His poems of 'The Woman with a Dead Soul' and 'The Wife' 
are examples in the one sort, and his ' Marpessa' and 'Christ in Hades' are 
instances in the other. In power of picturing to the imagination they are 
all of like charm, and in all of them one feels the glow of the poet's youth. 
Tennyson at his age had not done better." 

Professor Trent : " Poetry as beautiful as any that has been given us since 
Tennyson was in his prime." 

Tke Sewartee Review: "Almost perfect diction, melodious verse, lyric 
sweetness, single lines and passages that thrill and linger with us, . . . 'sweet 
to the mouth and ear.' In ten years Mr. Phillips will be ranked as the 
greatest living British poet." 

The London Daily Chronicle : " We may pay Mr. Phillips the distinguished 
compliment of saying that his blank verse is finer than his work in rhyme. 
. . . Almost the whole of this book is concerned with life and death, largely 
and liberally contemplated ; it is precisely that kind of contemplation which 
our recent poetry lacks. ' Poetry,' says Coleridge once more, ' is the blossom 
and the fragrancy of all human knowledge, human thoughts, human passions, 
emotions, knowledge.' It should not be didactic, it cannot help being 
moral, it must not be instructive, but it must needs be educative. It is, as it 
were, the mind of man in excelsis, caught into a world of light. We praise 
Mr. Phillips for many excellences, but chiefly for the great air and ardour of 
his poetry, its persistent loftiness." 

Literature : " No such remarkable book of verse as this has appeared for 
several years. Mr. Phillips boldly challenges comparison, in style and 
subject, with the vvork of the great masters; the writers whom he makes you 
think of range up to Milton, and do not fall below Landor. His blank verse 
is entirely his own, everywhere dignified, sonorous, and musical. No man 
in our generation, and few in any generation, have written better than this." 
BlackwooiTs Magazine : " Passages that march with the footfalls of the 
immortals, . , . stately lines with all the music and meaning of the highest 
poetry." 



1903 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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